Dorm Days
by MethuselahPixie
Summary: Destiel. When their dad vanishes, maybe for good, Sam wrestles Dean into college... with an angelic roommate. Living a normal life was not part of Dean's future plans. But he's fitting in, tied down; and he doesn't mind one bit. All he needed was an anchor worth being tied to.
1. Step One

Shuffling down the hall with a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, Dean slides passed jerks in jerseys and laughing roommates as he heads to his assigned room. Behind him, Sam is fumbling with the campus map. The halls here are narrow, and the doors are heavy and locked with keycards. That gave Dean some comfort. At least he didn't have to worry about being busted in on by any morons – or ghosts. As far as they knew. They hadn't even scoped the place out, and Sam was signing him up for classes. There could be wraiths for teachers here, dammit, and Sam refused to listen.

They passed 104, 105… and 106's door was gaping open. Dean looked at his schedule. Room 106 was his place. They stepped up to the doorway and poked their heads inside. A kid was at the desk, unloading something, and his dark hair was ruffled and sticking in every direction. No parents to be seen, just him. When they leaned in further to take a look at the cramped space, the kid looked up, alarmed. He had cloudy blue eyes shielded with wariness and an open, innocent face curling with stubble. He didn't look so tough.

"Hey there. Dean Winchester." Dean said with a smile. "I'm your new roommate."

The kid's alarm faded into curiosity. "Castiel," he replied in a deep voice, gravelly and coarse. "Castiel Novak. It's a pleasure."

Dean tosses his backpack onto the empty bed and turns to see the messy - but cozy - looking things covering Castiel Novak's side of the room. Blankets and pillows and posters of bands he'd never heard of. The Beatles. Queen. There is a plethora of sketchbooks and pencil boxes full of huge looking crayons and black sticks under his bed, as well. A blue microwave sat on the top of the dresser they would share and a laptop was covered in wires on the desk in front of where his roomie sat.

Realizing he was staring at everything, Dean mustered a smile for the curious look Cas was giving him and went back to his backpack. "You sure got a collection going." He offered, to explain his awry observing.

"It's not much, but it's what I've got," Cas replied evenly. "I... its just life I collected." Dean felt his eyes on him, back turned, hands rummaging through his few sets of clothes. "You only brought one bag?"

"Uh, yeah. We travel a lot. Dad didn't like us taking souvenirs." Dean chuckled off-handedly, but Cas's shock was obvious. "I'll be right back. I have to go tell Sammy something." He ducked out into the hall, leaving Cas where found him, eyes a tad bit wider, lips parted, and barreled down to the lobby where Sam was just coming in with another bag.

"Here," Sam said, showing it to Dean. "I scrounged together some more clothes and... Achem... Some other stuff." His tone implied guns and salt and matches. "Anything else you want me to pick up for you, before..." He trailed off. Before Sammy went to his own college. Dad had gone missing a long time ago. It had taken almost a year for Dean to accept it, and another to wrestle back into civilian life. This was a leap for him - but at least he wouldn't be alone. Maybe being forced to have someone else share his space that wasn't family would... Maybe he'd make friends. However, the look on his face said otherwise, and Sam sighed. "Dean, I know you don't want to do this-"

"Save it," Dean said bitterly. "I know what I gotta do."

"- But you putting up barriers around your head to keep people out, just so you can leave whenever you want," Sam pressed, "Is not healthy. This is where we belong, Dean. Guys our age were here a year ago - even earlier. We should be doing this."

"I don't belong here," Dean hissed, waiting until a couple passed to let his animosity be known. "This is for people who can't do what we do, Sam."

"What we did. Dean, we aren't hunters anymore. Dad is gone. We are on our own. And this is what our lives should be - and I promise you, if you give it a try, you will live longer." Sam handed Dean the bag, which was taken angrily. "You may even like it." Going back to the door to the parking lot one last time, he looked back, sadly. "Just promise me you'll try, Dean. That's all I ask."

At that moment, Dean realized that the parent-child relationship had switched up on him. He stood there acting like a rebellious teenager and here Sam was, his little brother, trying to give him a chance at a better existence. He swallowed. His Adams apple bobbed. "Yeah, ok," he managed. "Take care, Sammy." He looked up, and their eyes met, and Sam nodded without a word. Then he was gone. The door swung shut gently behind him, and Dean watched it close, knowing it meant the end of their life on the road.


	2. Step Two

Dean doesn't want to go back to the room, but he has the bag, so he gives in. Struggling against his flight need and his crushing defeat at the hands of normal life, he stalks back to the room and stops right outside the door, back to the wall, feeling hopeless. He was a hunter, not some damn kid in school. This was never going to work and Sam didn't understand. He had done it well - studying, learning, and fitting in. Dean had fought through it. He put his head back and opened his eyes. People were passing him by, loading up their rooms with tons more shit than Cas had, stupid grins on their faces. Excitement shone in their eyes and it was hot in their breath as they chatted anxiously with their parents, friends and new roommates. He looked at his own doorway sideways. He should get over himself. This was his life now. He had to do it, no matter how much it sucked.

Poor Cas. He had to deal with him as a roommate. He took a deep breath and walked back into the room, where Cas was untangling the wires on his desk.

"You all right?" The kid asked kindly, and Dean turned in surprise to see worry in his eyes. "I... really don't mean to pry, but you seem a little out of sorts." He offered. His face was covered in even stubble, as if he disliked shaving. The blue eyes latched onto his were cloudy, but bright, in a tired face softened by kindness. Casually tossed into his chair, his gangling form was all large hands with dexterous fingers twined in wire, and well-built shoulders. He wore a wrinkled old t-shirt, his jeans one size too big. Even his sneakers were beaten up and old. The ruffle of his hair was careless, but it seemed almost staged. He tilted his head and squinted at Dean, putting down the wiring and turning to him. "You don't want to be here, do you?"

Dean laughed. "Yeah, well, I was never good at school. Now I'm living at one." He sank down onto his unmade bed, hearing its squeaks and groans like noises of protest. "I'm sorry you got stuck with me. I'm not much of a bunk buddy." He smiled a bit bitterly, but Cas seemed unaffected.

Shrugging a bit, the dark haired boy looked him over. "Don't be. You look more together than most of the people here."

"No kidding. Did you see that moron in the hallway with a bottle of vodka in his pillowcase?"

They laughed a bit and Cas sat back, hands on his knees. He rubbed his nose thoughtfully. "So, traveled a lot, now you're stuck in one place for four years. That's a huge change, I'm not surprised you're having trouble with it."

Dean waved his hands. "It's all just settling in, I guess. What about you?"

"I went through most of my life in schools built adjacent to each other. This was just a down-the-road move for me." Cas sighed. "I guess that makes it easier, but it's really... boring. Trust me."

"Boring sounds a lot easier right now." Dean chuckled. "But hey. Boring, we can fix, lucky for you."

The awkward shyness that began to creep into Cas's motion made it very clear he had protests against that. "I really don't have much to offer socially. I believe it would be best if I kept to boring." Even as he spoke his eyes slid over Dean, unable to conceal the spark there - the fiery curiosity to know what it was like to be exciting, a drifter, always out of place and on an adventure. The fear there did not outweigh it, even then.

"We'll see." Dean smiled.


	3. Step Three

It took a long time for Dean to settle in. The introductory sessions hosted for all the freshman were ditched until Cas made him stay for fear of being by himself. They stuck together like glue, riding out the social pariah, getting curious glances and giving them at the same time. The summertime heat had Dean ditching his jacket and walking around in just a button up and jeans with Cas, in his usual faded t-shirt and jeans. Boots and sneakers - they were rarely seen without the other.

Castiel was from a city thirty miles away where no one knew anyone else, only who they went to church with and who they saw at school. All his life his folks worked two jobs each trying to support their small family, but when his sister died in a car accident his mother went into a deep depression. They went bankrupt. His father worked his fingers to the bone and Cas applied for all the scholarships he could handle, pushed by his dad to succeed so he didn't ever have to struggle like they were struggling. He confessed to never having many friends but having a good experience in school for the most part. Before they went bankrupt, they'd had plenty of kids over at one time - mostly friends of friends, but they'd all hang out together sometimes. Most days he was alone - drawing, as Dean came to find out. But afterwards everything seem to fall apart. Everything became hard to come by. He'd had to get a job to help his dad pay for bills. Through that, he had managed to keep his grades pretty damn far up, but he wasn't perfect. No one was. That kind of stress took its toll. Plus, Cas had only barely hinted his last two years of high school had been hell. What he meant by that Dean hadn't found out yet, but he wasn't asking. When the kid was ready he'd fess up.

Dean told him about the traveling. Said his dad was in pest control, their mom died when they were young and he'd been taking care of his little brother Sam ever since. He explained his friction with Sam, how their dad felt when he wanted to leave. Cas and him talked long into the night, Dean on borrowed sheets covered in baseballs, both of them staring at the ceiling and talking about their lives. Dean told Cas... everything. Almost everything. He left out the murdering demons and ghosts part. But he was finally, finally comfortable with someone. He had found a friend in all his mess of a life - something he hadn't thought was possible. Stuck at school, like he had always feared, was demanding and would get worse when classes started, but finding Cas made it all so much easier. He'd just go back to the room and find him there, pastels (not giant crayons) smeared on his face and hands, his eyes bright with worry as he looked up from his sketchbook, long legs crossed on his bed. He'd unload and Cas would sort through it all and, piece by piece, acknowledge and smooth away his worries and fears.

Little did he know, he was climbing Dean's dam of emotions. What, Dean wondered, what he think if he found the other side? It scared him to think of losing his first real friend outside his family. But... at the same time... He knew it would never end like that.


	4. Knowing Ones Friends

Classes. Dean struggles with homework, but he's getting it done. Everything is falling into place. He sees Sam sometimes, and they go to a burger joint, and they talk about all the ways they're fitting in now. Sam says he's joining a fraternity, Dean says him and Cas don't have any classes together. Both of them bubble with stress and closure. They're finally happy, they conclude, working towards normal futures. Sam goes back to his campus smiling, his worry erased every time, and Dean goes back wondering if Cas wants to join a fraternity with him. Plenty of time for that later, he supposed.

Dean goes back to the room to find it empty. He shuts the door behind him, surprised his antisocial friend has left the nest, and walks around. His desk is covered in papers and books. Cas's is covered in art supplies. The stack of sketchbooks go halfway up Cas's bed, of all shapes and sizes. Glancing around furtively, Dean picks up one from the top of the pile. Cas has been working in this one for weeks. Flipping through it, Dean sees a thousand pages of wings. Some sloppy, some horrible, but as he keeps flipping the pages they get better and better. 'Angel wings' is what Dean thinks, even though all that's drawn are birds.

He turns a page and pauses. A beautiful girl, with long curly dark hair, on a rocky precipice, with angel wings protruding from her back. For some reason, it makes him feel... strange. He puts the sketchbook back and sits on his own bed, the cot protesting loudly. A frown creases his face.

Not that it mattered, but Cas never talked about girls. Dean had scoped a few out in class he planned on hitting on - maybe to get laid when the time arose - but he had told Cas about all of them. Where they sat, what they wore. Not only did his roomie never mention them, but he never mentioned a girlfriend in high school either, which most kids did. Especially if they were boring. It was a pivotal thing for them.

Dean got up and got out another sketchbook of Castiel's. He sat on the floor and opened it, flipping through each page gently. Animal studies. More birds, raccoons.

He flipped another page. His jaw dropped. Sketches of him, sitting on his bed, doing homework. The dark frown to his brow. The curl of his fingers around a pencil. His boots lying discarded on the floor. Every detail was perfect. Dean stared at it a long time before turning the page again. More sketches of him. Grinning, laughing, the back of his head even. The next page was his hands. His watch, rings, necklace. Then his boots again. Pages and pages of his boots. Was this for real? Was Castiel serious? No women, but a shit ton of drawings of him?

Dean's pulse was racing. His heartbeat pounded in his ears like a rush of white noise. His shaking hands replaced the sketchbook and reached for another, unable to stop. Full body sketches. Bad proportions, though. Every picture got better and better, and near the middle it was perfect. Like a photograph of his figure. Heavy torso, bow legs. Combed hair. Even the glint in his eyes, a smile pushing at the corner of his mouth.

He sat and stared at it. It was beautiful. Perfect. They'd roomed together three months now, he had done this much work in three months? Why hadn't he noticed he'd been drawn? The glances should have given him away. Now that it was brought to mind, Dean had noticed Cas becoming a bit more confident about his work. He'd even hung up some landscapes. A bridge over a small forest creek hung over the bed, beside a darkly painted cityscape.

But this, this was nuts.

* * *

_If it's weird, it was a set of one shots I pushed together. _


	5. Changing

After coming to that last perfect picture of him - the drawing paused mid stride through the college square, every angle of him exact down to the turn of his collar - Dean couldn't help himself. He took it. Tore it right out of the sketchbook. It came off in his hand a perfect square of paper with the most incredible chaotic thing he had ever seen. He put the sketchbooks back and went to his side of the room, hiding the picture in the back of a large textbook.

What was going on here? Did Cas... was he...? Did it matter? Yeah, a little. When it concerned him it mattered. They were roomies, he walked around mostly naked sometimes, right after a shower. Slept across the room from him. He hadn't thought it mattered. But it did. It had to, why else would he do this? Months of studying him, drawing his every aspect. Dean felt a little bit... violated. Only because it meant Castiel had a crush on him. If he was checking him out every second Dean wasn't thinking, that was hard to take. The amount of exposure they'd exchanged had been… so platonic.

The drawings, even the large amount of them, were... flattering, actually. He sat down on the bed and tried to get his bearings. His eyes kept going to the textbook where the picture was hidden.

After doing some homework, pacing, and stalking the halls, it was finally eleven at night. School was tomorrow. Maybe Cas wasn't coming back tonight. Dean stripped, the acute awareness of how routine it was nagging him, and sprawled out on the bed. Cas had seen and drawn every visible part of him. He groaned and rubbed his face. He had to ask him. He had to bring it up. This was going to drive him nuts otherwise. But...

The lock turned, and the door opened and shut quite gently. In bustled Castiel, all jangling car keys and heaving chest. His being out of breath was alarming, seeing as it was a small campus - but to Dean's knowledge he didn't own a car. Had he walked into town?

"I apologize for my lateness," he breathed, emptying his pockets onto his now-clean desk. G2 pilot pens in three different shades of blue. A black pen, a marker, change, a wallet, keys, and several balled up receipts. "I had a job offer call after you left, and I couldn't get a ride. I hiked in and went to an interview."

He had walked. Dean was perplexed. "Cas, you could have called me. Sam's number is on speed dial and he has a car."

Cas shed his trench coat, dropping it over the back of his chair, and unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his jeans with such a casual motion. His stomach peered out from the open zipper, as did his red boxer briefs. Sinking onto his bed, he shot Dean a glance as he leaned down to unlace his sneakers. "I didn't want to be a bother. It wasn't that far, and I like running."

Dean felt that strange feeling return. Cas kicked off his shoes and socks and got up again, walking around with his jeans undone as he searched for a shirt to change into. The muscles in Dean's chest convulsed with pin pricks and needles. "Cas," he protested on instinct. "You're my friend, you could ask me for a week long piggy back ride and you still wouldn't be a burden."

A grin took over Cas's face as he sorted through his laundry. He'd let his stubble get longer than usual. "Thank you, Dean," he said wearily, turning to give him an even look. "Really. But I needed to walk anyway. Sometimes... Sometimes I just need to put myself through it, you know? Relieves stress." He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it into his laundry bin, pulling on a faded Star Wars shirt. Then, with dramatic humor he fell back onto his bed, belt jangling, and sighed, arms and legs eagle-spread. "So how's Sam?"

"Sam's good." Dean swallowed. "Joined a fraternity."

"Really?" Cas turned his head on the pillow his dark hair was curling against and his blue eyes filled with excitement. Dean hadn't had any idea how that spark made his chest fill with warmth until he was thinking about it. Cas drawing him over and over. His eyes moving lovingly along the lines, his fingers smoothing them. It was… It was… Does this make him gay? Bi? He swallowed again. Cas chuckled, his laugh lines dotted crinkling around his eyes. "Maybe we should join one next year."


	6. Befuddled

Dean felt his heart buck and throttle like he'd never, ever experienced before. Everything about Castiel was suddenly different. The wrinkle of his shirt where his shoulders angled up, his arm curling off the side of the bed, the shadows casting half him in darkness... the flicker of curiosity in his eyes. "Dean?" His smile faded into thoughtfulness, then into concern. "You don't look well." He was just lying there, oblivious Dean had just rifled through his most personal creations. A tense nervousness crept over Dean. The graphite was still smudged all over his guilty fingertips.

"I-I-" Dean stammered. "Sorry, I'm just...I don't feel great is all." He shook his head. "H-How did the job interview go, anyway? Whose it with?"

"A paint shop. Color assigning and stacking shelves. I had to take a test, see how many colors I could register. I scored really well." He propped himself up on his elbow, looking over at Dean. "I think he's going to hire me." The rake of his eyes was heavier than it had been before. It took in the curve of his exposed calves, the crease in his boxers. Self-consciously, the green eyed boy tugged his shirt down over his exposed belly, looking away. "Dean." Cas pushed worriedly. "What's wrong, do you feel sick?"

Dean looked up and as their eyes locked, Castiel got the idea very faintly. "No, actually," Dean's voice was low and soft, as he tried to be gentle about this. He wanted the truth, not a big emotional argument. Those never ended the way he needed this to end. He didn't break eye contact. "I saw your drawings, Cas."

The bomb shell was dropped. In the long, shocked silence that followed, the shell whistled through the air. It cut through miles of atmosphere like nobody's business. And when it hit home, the noise was deafening - its blast radius upset thousands upon thousands of acres of Cas's consciousness

"You..." Cas floundered for words. His lips trembled. The implosion behind his eyes was obvious. He stared at Dean in monumental shame, the gravity of that comment crashing down over him like water breaking from a dam. "I..." He shook his head as if shaking loose reality. Then he lay back again, and looked at his desk instead of at Dean, pushing his hair off his forehead with a shaking hand. "Oh."

Dean cleared his throat. "I know I shouldn't have pried into your stuff. I invaded your privacy," he said shakily. "Really, I didn't meant to, Cas. But-"

"Dean," Cas interrupted, his voice almost strangled. "I am so sorry." Dean watched him, surprised, and sat up, looking over at him. Cas sat up slowly, as if dizzy, and leaned both his arms on the bed. "I should have stopped. Or told you, or something at least," he rattled on. "I just... I have a really hard time finding a muse, you know, something or someone to make me draw really well... like, like inspiration... I just didn't... I'm really sorry." Large amounts of emotional pain pierced his face, and Dean felt his heart melt.

"Cas, it's ok. Look, I like them. You're... Those pictures are amazing," he admitted. "I was just really surprised. I didn't think you thought of me like that - like a muse, or like..." he trailed off, Adams apple bobbing.

Their eyes met again. Cas's Adams apple leaped. "Like?"

"Like you like me like... that." Dean snapped, flustered now. "I guess."


	7. Honesty

The silence stretched. Another had been bomb dropped. Both of them stared at the carpet, perched on the sides of their beds, legs hanging off, heads bowed. Like mirrors almost. Even their feet touched the carpet in similar places. Cas took a deep breath, "I was never going to tell you," he confessed. "I knew you weren't into it, so I left it alone." He looked up finally, swathed in guilt and shame, but fighting through it for a steady emotional foundation to stand on. "I used the drawings to express what I didn't want to make public to you. I would never do anything to make you uncomfortable, Dean, I swear. I'm not like that. Above anything else I might feel, I am your friend." He finished pointedly.

Dean's heart was pounding like a racehorse rounding the last stretch before the finish line, dust in his wake, and he felt dizzy. He pushed to lean back against the wall, pulling one knee to his chest so he could lean his arm on it, and put a hand on his forehead. "I know," he managed, and words had never meant more. "I know you are, Cas." He needed to say something else – relieve this weirdness coating his limbs, making him heavy and lethargic. Finally he looked up, and their eyes locked. "I took one."

"You took what?" Cas blurted, caught off-guard. He watched Dean get up, and go to his textbook, and open it, and bring the picture to him. He felt his weight as the bed sank down beside him.

"I took it." Dean explained. "I really liked it." He handed it over. "All those drawings… they were really… flattering, you know? I never thought somebody could see me like they see a celebrity. A muse."

"You don't look well, Dean-"

"I'm not, ok?" Dean interrupted. "Sorry. I'm not. I don't really know how to feel right now, it's a little tough to take in." They lapsed into an awkward silence that Dean fidgeted under. That had been an innuendo if there ever was one. "Why do you draw me?"

Cas studied the picture, sighing. "You're very strong and brave. And adventurous. I've never been any of those things. They're admirable. And… honestly, you keep yourself very well. You're handsome." He said truthfully, glancing over at him. "You're really a righteous person, Dean. I've never met anyone like you."

Dean looked at him in surprise as he handed the picture back. "I can have it?"

"It is you," Cas pointed out, and both of them laughed.

Dean got up and snatched some tape, neatly taping the picture on the wall above his bed, where he could see it when he lay down. Then he tossed the tape away and came back, taking his place beside Cas again. "Ok," he began. "Look. I'm not a judgmental kinda guy, ok? Whatever you wanna do on your watch is fine with me. Usually. As long as it ain't killin people.

"But I've never really had this before. A friend, I mean - not just, you know. And it's really tough trying to choose between being really scared and really gone." He admitted. "But I'm not scared of you, Cas. I'm scared of losing you. You are my best friend – the only one I've ever had, and you mean a lot to me. I mean geez, I hardly know you a few months and you know everything about me. Everything." He hesitated then. Not everything. But he cleared his throat and continued.

"But I will say this. I've never felt for a guy like this before. I really, really feel for you, man. I don't know what that is." He looked down at his hands. They were shaking. "But I… I really could never have anything against you, Cas. I mean that." He looked over at him, and their eyes met once more. A softer, less abrasive look passed between them, and Dean got butterflies. Like, real, flirtatious butterflies. He swallowed for the umpteenth time. Cas glanced so briefly at his lips he almost missed it.

"Dean, I would never put you in a compromising position without asking first," the dark haired boy said slowly. "But I know how all this feels. Obviously. So, I'm going to ask. Is it ok if I try something?"

"Try what?" Dean questioned, already knowing the answer.

Cas's blue eyes drank him in. "Something I wish was done to me the minute I had doubts of my own."


	8. Drowning in the Ocean

Dean said nothing, his green eyes wide and shimmering with clashing nerves and fear. Castiel was waiting for an answer. They were pretty close right about now, but only because Dean wanted the comfort of his friend right now, while they sorted this out... Right? Those blue eyes weren't soaking him up, leaving nothing but traces in the air where he breathed. Particles of him struggling to fit together and resist what had already happened. Dean's lips parted, his entire world pitching and whirling like a merry-go-round. Everything else faded. The only refuge he had was the still, calm, disheveled figure beside him, his eyes like anchors in a tumbling sea.

Feeling himself nod ever so slightly, Dean watched the blue eyes flutter nervously, the lips drawing breath between them. They seemed to magnetize him. Suddenly Cas was closing the space between their nervous bodies. Dean's hand reached out, and was caught by another, another one still cupping the side of his shaved face. The scent of open fields and fresh air crashed over him. It swirled into his head and drowned his thoughts in the sweet lull of acceptance. Then the lips snared him just so. A warmth flooded through Dean's face and shot down his neck and spread to his entire body – a hot, bothered feeling he could hardly contain. Castiel's kiss was soft, and tasted like a fireplace seat in winter; like a surfboard in the waves of chaos, and the arms of a lover while your heart shattered. He felt like a hand reaching to pull you out of Hell. He felt like soft wings shielding you from the weather. Like a best friend giving you a taste of paradise before letting you leap headlong into a mistake.

There was nothing on Earth to describe what it felt like to have someone that wrapped around your heart squeeze your hand and push his thumb against your cheek and drink in the taste of your mouth. Dean just let himself sink into it. There was no argument he could find. No reasons to stop. It was heavenly, letting go, letting his feelings take him and toss him out into the harbor. There was something, though. He realized with a jolt that he was kissing his roommate, and that gave him probable cause to think about it more. Peeling his free hand off his knee, where it had been gripping so hard he thought he'd break something, he grasped Cas's wrist and drew back from his lips. Great regret screamed in his heart and pangs traveled down where they should not be traveling as he opened his eyes and looked into the eyes of the ocean.

Like a thunderclap, Dean felt an almost physical impact of sheer, unadulterated desire to touch, to hold close, to thread his own fingers through the tousled hair and give Cas another reason to be flushed and breathless. He looked away from the eyes without moving, his world still pitching.

"Dean," Cas's voice was so quiet, teetering on the edge of the precipice. He was searching the face before him for signs of anything at all. Shock, disgust… lust.

Dean withdrew from his touch, his look. He got up and stumbled to his own bed. The covers were thrown aside, and Dean plunged under them, vanishing. He had gotten himself away before he'd done anything, said anything, wrong. Too soon.

He shut his eyes and did not sleep. But he heard Cas discard his jeans, which made him a lot more bothered than he liked to mention. Then the sound of his footsteps across the carpet to turn off the light. Then the rustle of his bed as he climbed into it, slowly, lethargically, as if disheartened. Then there was no more noise.

The morning came quickly for both of them.


	9. Fever

Cas was up and dressed and gone before Dean woke. He rolled over to see the room empty and sighed heavily, guilt and restless sleep weighing on his shoulders. The bags under his eyes were remnants of a chaotic mind. He dressed sluggishly and threw his things together for class, flopping back onto an unmade bed to tie on his boots. Behind him the door shut loudly and he stalked off to class. A black cloud hung over him all day. He ate nothing, said nothing, and looked at no one. Every class was drowned out by the endless thundering of thoughts drenching him. The why's and how's and escape routes from this he knew would never be used. He went through stages of denial, anger, resentment, bitterness, and then depression hit when lunch rolled around.

With his next class half an hour away, Dean went out into the chilling air and threw his backpack under a tree, sinking down beside it. The sidewalks of the campus threaded through bright green grass and old, sturdy oaks - but by the stairs headed towards the dorms across the lake, was a maple sitting along on the hill. There were only two sidewalks this way. One a ways away leading horizontally to the library, and one far to his right, heading to the stairs. Out before him thick bushes dotted the shore of the body of water stretching half the length of the campus. Ducks squabbled by the fountain in the center, geese quietly drifting along the still water at the far end.

Dean leaned his arms on his bent knees. Maybe it was deep enough to drown himself in. The maple leaves above him scattered his broad shoulders with broken sunshine. The air felt still and foreboding. Winter was coming early, and it was supposed to last much longer as well.

On his way to their dorm building, Dean spotted a familiar trench coat, messenger bag hefted on one shoulder and books clutched in his arms. Castiel. His dark head was downcast, eyes on the sidewalk as he trudged towards a tainted sanctuary. His classes ended at noon. Dean only had art next. But he knew it would foul his mood even further. Snatching his bag, he started towards the sidewalk, pounding concrete as he descended the stairs. Something in him had finally set into place. He had to fix this.

By the time he got back to the room, Cas had already been there ten minutes. Dean unlocked the door and pushed his way inside. Castiel, who had been sitting in his chair, staring at his empty desk, jumped out of his skin and whipped his head up to see who was breaking in while Dean was in class. But, it happened to be Dean, and that made him flush with shame and look away again.

"I-I thought you would be in class," Cas stammered.

Without a word, Dean threw his backpack aside, eyes steely, and grabbed Cas's shoulder, making him look up at him. Their eyes met, Cas's startled blues and Dean's unreadable hazel. Dean dragged Cas to his feet and pulled him into a hug. "I'm sorry," he forced, the emotion closing up his throat. He got only stiff shoulders and nervous breath against his neck. "Cas," he repeated. "I was so angry with myself. I… I only made everything worse. I didn't want to do that to you. I really didn't. I couldn't help myself."

Warm palms rubbed his back, arms pressing his sides. "It's ok, Dean," Cas's kind words soothed the shakiness in him. "It's all right. I'm all right."

"I'm so sorry, Cas," Dean groaned, drawing back and looking him in the eye. "I'd never felt anything like that kiss in my life, I…" He bit his tongue in anger at himself.

"I shouldn't have pushed it on you. You weren't ready." Castiel apologized sincerely.

Grabbing his upper arms, Dean made him look at him. "No, you needed to," he argued, making Cas's eyes round with surprise. "I needed to know. And so did you. I just… I pulled an asshole move, because I… I really let you in. I was so afraid of it, that it made me mad. I was furious that you had stripped me down so easy and put me all over paper like I was something easy to critique. I was furious that after hardly knowing you, you seemed to fit so perfectly into my head. I…" He drew back, hands held out as if wanted to touch but not daring. "My defense against people is usually so… perfect."

"If I didn't love you as a human being, I could never have deciphered you as an artist," Castiel said quietly, and the tension between them softened into something a lot warmer.

In his knees Dean felt a weakness growing. Every sound off Castiel's tongue lassoed him in and yanked tight around his heart. Dean was sure that Cas felt the same jolt of desire whenever their gazes touched; it was a rolling simmer now, a living thing under his skin, his body thrumming with it as it began to collect in pleasurable stabs in his groin. He swallowed. Their eyes made love.


	10. Guffaw

"I'm not going to art." Dean blurted.

Seeming to get the picture, Cas nodded briefly. He undid the buttons of his over shirt, eyes bedroom, making Dean feel a rush of heat. His shoes were kicked off, as were Dean's. Reaching out, Dean gathered him in his arms, pushing his hands under the button-down and pulling him in by the soft material of his cotton t-shirt beneath. Eager hands grabbed his waist on both sides, their grip feverish as they feasted on the curves there. Hot breath met. Dean twisted his fingers in Castiel's neat dark curls and wrapped his other arm around his body possessively.

This kiss was one of ferocity. Their lips clashed and snatched, smacking together noisily without any thought. Taste filled their minds. Each touch of their mouths made Dean shudder and shiver, writhing with each stake of fever to his heart, and he thought he would crumple under it. He was acutely aware of the warmth bleeding through Cas's shirt as he pushed as much of his body as he could against him. The arousal from him was tumultuous. He felt his eager hips press against his own, grinding against him with unleashed lust. Their touch spread and consumed every bit of body it could find, begging for flesh, tearing at cloth as if it were an infuriating obstacle.

Grabbing him, Dean tangled Castiel in his legs and they fell together onto his bed. The hands on the small of Dean's back pulled him closer with an iron grip, as if he may try and escape. His back arched in a seductive way that had Dean breathing raggedly onto his lips. The body beneath his hands responded to every touch. In the dim light of the room Dean's hair glowed pale brown, his freckled face scarlet with blush. It seemed as their lips grasped and gasped the blood in their faces was rushing south for the winter. Teenage lust wrapped them up in needs way too passionate to satisfy.

Both boys grab and rub until their energy is sapped entirely. Hours have passed like this. Once it all stopped there was nothing left. Cas gripped Dean's shirtfront, burying his face in his neck, and Dean rested his tired body. They both drifted in and out of sleep – both lulled by the constant, comforting motion of Dean's strong hands traveling over Cas's back.

"I have a night class," Cas spoke into Dean's collar, muffled but audible.

"Probably," came Dean's charmingly snarky reply.

A groan from Cas. He pushed his open palms over Dean's chest, tentatively, and his lips parted. "I never want to move again." A chuckle vibrated through the chest he was touching, and it made him press his cheek to it, eyes sliding shut.

"You have to go to class."

"You didn't."

"Yeah but I'm a bad student."

"You are not."

Dean sat up, and it was obvious Cas hated every moment of them slipping apart. "Look, I don't want to rush anything," he said gently. "Let's take it easy, ok? This is a new thing. It might not go so well if we treat it like glass. It won't break if you keep doing what you do, all right?" He smiled and its infectious nature brought it to Cas's lips as well. Using the arm he wasn't propped upon, Dean reached out and cupped Cas's scruffy face in his hand, bringing him in for another kiss. This one was different. More like last night's, only surer, less hesitant. It felt like rough adoration, but it was also a wish for more time together.

Dean's growling stomach roared its ugly head, and Cas gaped. "When was the last time you ate?" He demanded, looking at the clock. It glowed 5pm.

"Yesterday," Dean blurted. Getting a disapproving glare made him flinch.

"We are going to dinner right now. We have time before I have to go." Cas climbed out of the bed and grabbed up his sneakers. "Come on, right now."

Dean made a snort of protest. "Yeah, sure, like you can get me-"

Lips suddenly appeared hovering right before his own. "Get up," Cas whispered. "And I will let you touch my ass."

Dean was up. He dressed and combed his hair and Cas did the same. But only when he tied on his boots did Cas draw up to him and press his chest to Dean's. "Brief," he snapped. With vigor, Dean reached around and cupped a cheek swathed in denim, fever pushing at his groin.

"I touched the butt," he whispered, and they both dissolved into idiotic laughter, like goats guffawing. They left their room laughing and shove each other in the hall, only to reach out and scramble back together again, breaking through the front doors of the lobby and out into the chill of the evening.

* * *

_I am enjoying this way too much_


	11. Indulgent

Sleep was heavy, languid, and cold this morning. The window was wide open – something Dean hadn't thought was possible – and Cas's side of the room was mostly unoccupied. Rolling onto his side, Dean squinted over at it. Cas's side was always a mess. He just didn't clean. His bed was a rumpled mess, his desk was a disaster area, and his clothes were strewn everywhere. A smile wormed its way onto his lips. It was pretty cute, seeing him hunched over his desk, turned away from the essay in front of him. The pencil clutched in his left hand hovered useless. His eyes were cast out the window, over the short road leading to the main campus, curling around the lake there. The morning sunlight bathed him in golden warmth. A cool, refreshing breeze drifted through the room.

Dean groaned as he stretched out and pushed sleep from his eyes with the heel of his hands. "It's Saturday, Cas. Why are you up?" He sat up and blinked over at the dark haired boy, who turned to him with muted surprise. His eyes filled with affection. It was strange, Dean thought, how often that had happened before – how often he'd missed it when Cas tried to cover up, turn away almost at once. That shy hesitation. The respect he used to reign in his feelings.

The blue-eyed look drifted over him now, taking in the mess of his hair, the slender legs having been formerly covered up by blankets, the curling smirk. Then a small sheepish smile took over. "I wanted to get this done early, so I have the rest of the day," he explained. "It's an essay, then Russian homework. It won't take long."

Nodding, Dean chuckled and covered his face with his hands, still drunk with sleep. Last night when Cas had gone to class he had walked around campus thinking. Wondering what had happened, why he was so feverish for his quiet roommate. Why he was suddenly into a guy. And he had concluded that it didn't matter. What he wanted – what he could have – he wanted to just take it, mold into it, let it be him. He wanted Castiel. Wanted him like he'd never really wanted a girl before. It didn't make them gay, it made them human. They were attracted without reason and it was mutual and that's how it was. That's it. No magic switch, no labels.

The acceptance of all his emotions and desires just overwhelmed him. He sank down beside the lake, and he let himself think about Cas. His hands, his eyes, his smile, his shoulders, his thighs. God, his thighs. Thinking about him that way was strange – foreign. But it was definitely not unenjoyable. He remembered every touch, ever palm he had pressed over Cas's body, and it made him want him all the more. He wanted to grab him and possess him with all he had and never let him go. He wanted to make him beg for more. He wanted to hear him say his name, again and again. Which made him incredibly horny. He ran back to the room and hid his ardor from the world, but he wasn't ashamed of it. Just ashamed of flaunting his tent in public.

He looked up now and saw Cas, and he didn't see just some gay guy crushing on him. All he saw, all he cared about, was how handsome he was. How much he needed him. How his warmth filled his head and his heart together and made him finally feel like he belonged here – at a damn school, of all places. Getting to his feet, he walked over to Cas's desk, and reached out. He slid his arms around his neck and pressed his nose into Cas's neck, and breathed him in.

"Dean," came a barely protesting sigh in reply, and the pencil dropped to the paper as Cas's hands slid over Dean's arms. Like he was memorizing him: the smell of him, the warmth of his hug, the weight of his arms around him; the touch of his lips against his throat.

"I'm sorry, I can't help it. I'll let you get back to work in a minute," came the murmured reply, sending chills down Cas's spine. Dean left a loving kiss in a trail along Cas's neck and jaw. Relaxing into it, Cas gave in, eyes sliding closed and body going slack as Dean gently turned his head to face him. The touch of Dean's affection alone was like a drug. Cas couldn't stop him, and didn't want to; he wanted it to fill him up forever. Dean knew it, too. He left his last kiss on Cas's lips. A sweet, savoring kiss, full of thinly concealed seduction. Then he hugged his neck tightly, just once more, before sliding away. He rested his hands on Cas's shoulders. "I'm going to go shower. Don't go anywhere."

"I'll be surprised if I can ever move again after that," Cas replied drunkenly.

Dean smiled to himself as he moved away, gathering shampoo and soap into a bag. "Good. Get some work done, champ." He nudged his shoulder before vanishing out the door, Cas's eyes following him longingly even as the door slid shut.

* * *

_I am so sorry for the wait. I've been so swamped with crap. I'll update all my fanfictions ASAP as many times as I possibly can. _

_Also, my roomate is tone deaf. I've never been happier for headphones._


	12. The Real Reason

Castiel finished his work shortly. When Dean returned, he had managed not to distract him more than twice more before the essay was stapled and slid away. Dean was sprawled out on his bed, bored, his button down unbuttoned, before the last lessons were finished. When Cas finally closed his textbook, Dean looked up from his car magazine curiously to see him getting up out of his chair. No questions could escape his lips before Cas had crossed the room in two strides to Dean's bed, the magazine fluttering to the floor.

Dean sat back, his heart leaping, as Cas straddled his lap. The incredible fervor in the dark haired boy's burning eyes and parted lips curled out of his breath and against Dean's cheeks. Losing himself in the steely, pre-dawn blue of his eyes, Dean felt his heat meld with his own, and swallowed in anticipation. He had his hands against Dean's chest. Their eyes locked and swam. A burst of sexual tension snapped when Dean's hands grabbed the offered thighs on either side of his own eagerly and Cas grabbed his shirt front, pulling him in for a rough kiss.

The weight of Cas on his thighs stirred the nearly dampened ardor, rekindling it in a heady rush. Dean would give him that much – Cas knew what he was doing. He pressed his body to Dean's and sank into his mouth and sparked his embers into flame. Dean pushed his hands all over Cas's thighs and up his shirt to his back – he pulled and rubbed the velvet skin, memorizing his bumps and ridges like mapping out a country. Cas pushed aside his open shirt and shoved it away, arms and hands sinking all over him. He grabbed Dean's mouth with ferocity as he moved, and Dean moaned into Cas's mouth in return, only making him rougher. Castiel pushed Dean back against the wall and put his hands up on the cold painted-over bricks, using the leverage to shift and move his hips.

Dean bucked against him hungrily in return. All at once, in a dizzying roil in his gut, he wanted things he didn't even know how to ask for; things he wasn't even sure how to name and the intensity of the sheer need immobilized him. His lack of motion alerted Cas to a change in his need and the boy paused in his madly sexual grinding. The strength of the bulge in Dean's jeans was self-explanatory. Dean let his hands rest at the soft waist of his roommate as he drew breath in heavy pants. Cas, on the other hand, was hardly breathing hard. When Dean looked up, expecting to see the same fever, he saw instead fear.

"Cas?" He blurted, gripping his waist more tightly in worry, his tone mirroring his grip. "Hey, what's wrong?"

The blue eyes shut and Cas took a deep breath, drawing his arms down from the wall and into their laps. He sat back and let his head bow. He worked his jaw. "I'm sorry," he cleared his throat. "It's been a while."

Dean still felt something dark in his undertone. "Well this is a total first for me, so I get you there. But what's with the scared look, Cas?" He pressed. "You're white as a sheet. Did I-?"

"No, it wasn't you," Cas said quickly. "I just… I told you about… high school, right?"

"You said your last two years sucked majorly," Dean replied. "Not why." He helped Cas climb off his lap and sink onto the bed beside him, putting his arm around his shoulders. Cas leaned into his touch but didn't look at him.

"It was because of a guy." Cas said quietly, staring down at his hands.

A dark fury crept into Dean's chest, replacing the horny quickly. "What happened?" He managed. "It's all right, I'm here for you." He leaned over and pressed his lips against Cas's temple. It seemed to break Cas of his stiffness. He melted against Dean's shoulder, sliding an arm around his waist and touching his forehead to Dean's.

"He was the one who made me… come out of the closet," Cas explained quietly. "I was infatuated with him for years. He was my neighbor. We grew up in the same place, so our parents were always together, and so we would spend entire summers together." He rubbed his face with his free hand. "Well, we went to the same schools, too. He was always the 'it' guy, you know? The ladies man. For all the time I knew him, I never really had any relationships. A few flings, but they were pathetic. No girl was my type.

"But I never really liked any other guys like I liked Martius. He was an icon of social popularity and looks." He paused here to flash Dean a smile. "You're more handsome than he was." They shared grins and Cas shook his head. "But he figured out I had a crush on him when we were juniors. I thought he'd be furious, but instead he took it as a compliment. We began to hang out more often – even though he was with the 'in' crowd, we were still close – until one time he planned a camping trip, on the beach, with some friends. Everyone else cancelled at the last minute except us, so we went anyway.

"We drove four hours and spent all day exhausting ourselves at ice cream shops and skate parks. It was heaven on earth, being able to be this open with him. We talked about everything. But at the end of the day, I figured he'd bring two tents, since it was clear I liked him, but when we pitched it on the dunes it was clear there wasn't two. We built a fire and all night before we went to bed I was a mess about it. I really didn't want to make a move on him and have him push me away. He was my best friend. But he didn't even seem fazed. That was the night I lost my virginity."


	13. Confession

Dean's surprise was plastered all over his face. "I guess I shouldn't be so shocked. I was a ladies man myself," he admitted. "But wow, man."

"Yeah, imagine my surprise. I have that affect." Castiel teased. "It just happened so fast. And when it was over, I remember thinking, 'Wow, he must have done this before. Is he gay, too?' But he told me it could be our little secret, all of it. He told me he'd been with a few other guys, in secret like this, and that he didn't fit with any of them. He said he liked me. Only me. I thought he was finally mine, forever." Emotion rose in his throat and he held back a sob at the heart-breaking memory. It was like a raw wound he had just tossed salt into. He managed to compose himself with Dean rubbing his shoulder and murmuring gently in his ear. "I was such a child. I let him do anything he wanted with me; he liked inflicting pain. It was his thing. But I didn't care, I had him, and the sex was… rough, but good. I had bruises and cuts and scars, but…" He cleared his throat again. "Well, all year, we were together. I didn't ask about his love life with girls before that. I figured it was over – that he was as head-over-heels as I was – but of course, he was just my only real relationship.

"One summer day, he brought a girl with us camping. I was really shocked that he didn't want to do anything intimate, but I got over it. We had fun all day, like last time, and then that night he told me to make out with her." He shook his head in disbelief. "I refused, and he explained that we should three-some with her. That she liked me and wanted me to. But I really, really didn't want to – I was in love with him - I thought - and we didn't have any condoms or anything. It was like asking me to cheat on him with a partner I was adverse to – someone I could accidentally impregnate. At first he said he was ok with me not wanting to. He wasn't mad, or anything. But he told her to wait outside and took me in the tent and it was obvious he was angry. He did all sorts of things while we… we… He got so rough, I… I was terrified. I had to beat him off, finally, and I knocked him unconscious. Then I grabbed my clothes, and I ran.

"I had nothing except the money in my wallet and my phone. I'm not from a rich family, Dean. I couldn't even afford a hotel room. I wandered the streets alone, disheveled, beaten, heart-broken…" He rubbed his cheeks furiously, angry with himself for crying over this old memory.

Dean made him stop for a minute. Gentle hands pushed his own rough ones aside. Warm lips kissed the tears from his cheeks, and Cas felt his broken heart shattered into smaller pieces, the throb of emotion he felt for Dean's small gesture overwhelming. He stole a salty kiss from Dean and they sat gently macking for a few minutes before he was calmed down. Then Dean drew back. "What did you do?" He asked gently.

With a shrug, Cas ran his fingers through his hair. "I did what I could do. I went to the hospital, and got my wounds treated, then I called my mother bawling like a baby. My parents came to get me. They paid my hospital bills and brought all my stuff in from the beach, where Martius had left it, and drilled me with questions all the way home. I told them everything. They were appalled not only that I'd been beaten, but also that I was gay. But they agreed to leave it be. After all, I was their only remaining child. My sister Anna had died that year. We were all still fresh from that wound." He heaved a big sigh. "After that, Martius told everybody I was gay and that I tried to rape him, and that's why he beat me up. I lived my entire senior year fighting against the harassment in school and the courts indecision to believe some kid over the school's top lacrosse poster-boy and my parents walking on eggshells around my sexuality. I'm lucky I even made it out alive."

Looking over at Dean, his expression darkened with hopelessness. "I was going to kill myself, Dean. I went to do it so many times that I lost count." At the aback look on his face, Cas's darkness softened. He reached up and slowly slid his hands into Dean's hair, gripping him, pulling him close. "But I wouldn't. I couldn't. I knew out there somewhere, someone needed me. I knew they would find me, and I would finally be really in love, and we would truly be happy. So I rode it out. I fought it off."

"I need you," Dean said immediately, the truth clear on his face, "right now, and when I got here I needed you, Cas. Without you, I don't know what I would've done." Cas evidently felt something similar, because his already soft gaze melted further as he reached up to fit his hand perfectly at the back of Dean's neck, pulling him in for an oddly tender kiss.

Cas pulled back, drinking in the love in Dean's eyes. "I can't say yet whether we're forever, and I won't. That's too much pressure to put on anyone," he said gently. "But I made it out of that dark place, and I made it here. So I'm… I'm sorry if I ever shut down like that. It's not you, it's.. my head."


	14. Mutual

Deep in Dean's gaze was a sympathetic and acutely depressed look that they shared. Dean nodded slowly, and looked up into Cas's eyes. "I understand. I do. If you don't wanna do anything right now, that's totally ok with me. I get it. You don't have to do anything you're uncomfortable with, or especially scared of. I'm not going anywhere – when you're ready, or even if you're never ready, I'll be right here, still trying to make you happy."

There it was. What he had been terrified he would never hear. Martius had always forced sex – and done it with thousands of bruises and hits. His love had hurt so much… So much that it was never love at all, but vicious need. Someone… someone finally… A sob broke through Cas's chest and rattled out between his lips. "Dean," he managed, before he buried himself in Dean's chest. "I… you don't understand…" Alarmed, Dean held him tightly, rubbing his back in worried comfort. "You don't understand how much I needed to hear that." Cas gasped raggedly, and Dean groaned in relief and yanked a blanket over to them pulling him down to lay on their sides in the bed. He tucked the blanket around Cas and pressed a hard, loving kiss against his hair, cradling him in strong arms as his shoulders shook.

"It's all right, Cas. It'll be ok. I'd do anything for you. Don't ever be afraid to tell me no if I do something either, all right?" Dean murmured. "Pain is not my style in bed, but if I ever do anything that hurts you, tell me, and I will make it right again. I swear I will."

"Dean," Cas whined lovingly into his chest, his voice deep with gravel and thick with emotion.

Dean smiled a heart-breaking smile as he rocked Cas gently, his own heart filling with affection. They could do no more. What had needed to be said had been said. What needed to be done was done. Every moment they touched knitted up Cas's broken heart, and they lay there a long time. It was the most amazing and deeply uncontrollable feeling he had ever experienced. He cried himself out and lay, exhausted, in Dean's comforting grasp. The bed grew warm around them. The safety of it all lulled Cas into a near-dreamlike state. Dean did not drift off, though, going through everything Cas had told him over again in his head. He wanted to find this Martius kid and rip his balls off.

As the time passed, Cas finally mustered up the energy to speak. "I want to." He swallowed the tears in his voice and drew back enough to look up at Dean, who blinked.

"You want to…?" He questioned. Cas's eyes, already dark in the dim light, were nearly black, pupils blown wide with lust. That was answer enough. Dean's face melted into a turned-on sort of surprise. He nodded in an understanding way. "I can't lie, I want to, too. But no rush on anything, all right? I'm really freaked out, and you've got a history that might make it really tough for you. I'll be fine if you are. I will never, ever wish you harm, Cas. But you better make sure you're all right before we even attempt anything - anything at all. Got me? No exceptions." He said sharply.

Cas nodded slowly in reply, without breaking eye contact, which made Dean hot under the collar. He leaned down and kissed him deeply in a very conscious way. Cas leaned into the kiss, pushing his hands against Dean's bare chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat. They spent the next hour making out under the blankets with teasing lips and fingertips. Dean preferred to clamp his hands on Cas's ass, while Cas couldn't figure out where he loved to clutch onto Dean's torso more. A need was quenched between them. The need for a truth to bind them together – the truth that they were both damaged and scared, and that was ok.

When it grew close to noon, the sound of their stomachs growling in unison was deafening. They agreed to go get lunch and rushed to get up and get dressed. It took a bit longer, sharing pecks and deep, passionate tonguing, but when they got out into the halls they were perfectly civil. Cas reached over and Dean swallowed nervously, hooking his finger around Castiel's as they strode down the corridor to the front doors. They exchanged a glance that was anxiety-ridden, but determined. And then they pushed through the doors and walked all the way to the cafeteria connected by just two fingers, Dean's free hands slung into his pocket and Cas's clenched into a tight fist. No one said anything. They got some glances, but nothing else. They got weirder looks when they cleaned out the buffet like they hadn't eaten in weeks.


	15. Home

Castiel decided to go home for a couple days. He needed to think about everything that had happened over the last few weeks, and see his family, and Dean offered to drive him in the Impala; there were no downsides he could see. He'd even gotten the job he had interviewed for – he started when the new week began. He threw his weekend bag into the back seat and slid in alongside Dean, wiggling in the leather. It was so… rich. He felt bad for sitting on it as if it were an antique luxury, and he was tarnishing it. Glancing over at the motorcycle cowboy behind the wheel, those green eyes warm on his, jeans torn and his jacket rumpled, he felt a lot more at ease. It made Dean very happy to see him finally in the passenger's side, he guessed. Usually he hated bumming rides. But a taxi was out of his price range, and his parents both worked late weekdays.

"Thank you again for the ride," Cas sighed. "You know I hate being a burden."

Dean rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Cas, we've been over this. I love driving. You're amazing. I want to do stuff for you, but I'm broke – so this is what I can do."

"I understand. I'm sorry, I just… Thank you. I really could not thank you enough."

Nodding, Dean winked at him. "I could think of a few ways you could thank me."

Laughing, Cas shoved him, and Deans started up the car with a grin. It growled like a beast and the pride in Dean's face was unmatched. Leaning back, Cas buckled in, and the moment Dean pulled out onto the road he rolled the window all the way down and pushed his head out, dark hair whipping. When he sat back again he was getting a strange look, and he laughed. "I feel like I'm flying," he explained. "It's been a… small habit since I was younger."

"I wish I could say I can help you fly whenever you want, but..." Dean chuckled. "There's not enough Red bull in the world for guys like us."

"I would do anything for wings. Real wings." Cas exchanged a smirk full of impossible dreams with Dean and looked out the window again.

Cas's house was across town, and the college was about twenty miles from town. They drove mostly in silence, with a few bits of conversation here and there. Where did his folks work, when did he want to be picked up. They decided three on Sunday was good – and Cas's parents were both in steady jobs. His mother had recently struggled out of her deep depression and held a job at the local college as a secretary. His father was an electrician.

When they lapsed into silence again, Dean reached over and rested his free hand on Cas's thigh, who looked up in surprise from winding a loose string in his jacket around his fingers. Blood rushed to both their faces, and Cas just barely managed to bite back a ridiculous grin, Dean pursing his lips and trying to act as cool as possible. But when he glanced over and their eyes met, his façade melted. Cas gave him a knowing look and put his hand over Dean's, sliding down a bit in the seat to lean his head back against the top of the seat. He let his mind drift from the scenery sliding by, to the rumble of the car, always keeping one point of thought on the heat pouring out of Dean's palm. Every now and then, he'd feel Dean's hand flex against his denim-covered flesh, as if checking mass of his thigh was a reminder that Dean wanted him to remember he was still there; still enamored with him. It was a comfort that made Cas's heart ache with affection.

The whole way, Cas was quiet mainly because he was nervous. He didn't plan this as just a usual few days with his parents and a few meals of real home cooked food. His bond with Dean grew every day – he wanted them to be a part of it, to know his life was on the mend. That he was on the mend. The ache for his sister would never go away, but at least now he didn't feel so alone, without peer companionship. Dean wasn't only his boyfriend (he cringed at the word) but he was his best friend, his connection. He'd never felt so at home in someone's arms before. It was a big thing for him – especially since Martius had been his only real relationship before this. He wanted them to know how he was growing, and healing. Mentally and emotionally.

After the thick town traffic, they maneuvered through a smushed-up little downtown block or two, practically empty, and bumped over railroad tracks on their way to a church on a crowded street corner. A left turn at their fence-encased graveyard, and two streets later, Cas pointed out his house to Dean. It was amid a few blocks of other suburban houses; maybe a little more run down. Down a steep grassy lawn slope - the driveway, treacherous - lay his home. The grass wasn't cut straight and the bushes were half-dead, and it needed a good paint job, but it was where he had grown up all his life. They climbed out, and Cas slung his bag over his shoulder, walking to meet Dean at the front of the car.

"I'm sorry you have to drive back alone." Cas smiled sheepishly, holding out his arms sadly, and Dean smiled as he embraced him.

"It's ok, I guess," he smirked into his neck. "I'll live." He pulled back a bit, smiling into Cas's hesitant expression. "I'll see you in a few days." Drawing him in, he left a warm kiss on his lips, the spark of longing and sadness being flinted from their tongues. He released him with a great force of will. Cas stood back as Dean walked back to the driver's side. He turned back, glancing him over. "If you need I'll be around, anything, you give me a call, all right? No, 'I'm a burden,' crap either. I'll have the car all weekend, so I'll be around. No need to hesitate. Got it?"

Nodding, Cas sighed. "I'll try. No promises." He managed.

"Have a good weekend, buddy," Dean flashed him a sad smile back before climbing into the car again and putting it in reverse. He backed back out into the street with those blue yes on him. Pulling away, he felt them burning into the back of his head. The first time they'd been apart in six months.


	16. Snake in the Bushes

_Implied sexual content warning._

_Just in case._

* * *

Cas watched Dean until the tail end of his car had slid away. He missed him already. The further and further he got, the more he felt their bond tense, stretching to keep them connected. But there was nothing to do now. He would feel Dean in his heart, no matter how far he went. Turning his back, he went inside, unlocking the door clumsily with the heavy key ring from his belt loop. He pushed the heavy door open and stepped into the house, the smell of thick candles and cleaning product meeting his nose in a familiar sensation. He was home.

He went straight to his room and tossed his backpack inside. The lights jumped to life, revealing his little piece of heaven; a stained white carpet with a queen bed, still unmade as he'd left it. Two dressers packed with clothes that didn't fit but were too loved to throw away, accompanied by extra socks. A closet jammed with old sneakers and empty boxes. A desk covered in knick-knacks from every vacation he'd ever gone on, and his bookshelves, making the small room entirely too cramped. But it was his and he loved it.

The house was, of course, empty. His parents wouldn't be back until ten at least, and it was four thirty. He had a good amount of time to himself to settle back in. The old fridge had a lot of food in it, which was rare for them, and he happily sampled an apple and a beer. Usually he abhorred drinking but he wanted something to help loosen him up – otherwise meaning, he needed something to kill his nerves. Tomorrow his folks were both off. He would tell them then, at dinner preferably, about Dean. He felt his anxiety prickling and popped open the bear with a hiss. They already knew he was gay. How much worse could it get?

Floor creaking under his feet, he went back to his room and kicked off his socks and shoes, heading to the living room next. The thick, worn green couch welcomed him with open arms. He sank into its plush lap with a deep sigh of happiness. Home. The comfort of it made him scrunch his toes on the weird shag carpet and rest his arms on his thighs, both balancing either food or drink. He shut his eyes and breathed it in. Not too clean, not too dirty, and openly his. He'd missed home – even as lonely as it had become, becoming an only child and launching himself and his parents into the most difficult turmoil in his lifetime. He balanced his apple on his chest as he grabbed the TV remote from a stack of blankets and flicked it onto the movie channel. It was halfway through Captain America. He bit into his apple and let the flashes of war take him away.

After his experience with Martius, Castiel didn't think he would ever feel safe during sex again. I mean, he hadn't thought he'd ever get anymore, so it had been a scarring afterthought – but with Dean, the fear was real. And it reared its ugly head every time he remembered, however fondly, their make-out session where he'd confessed. He wanted to know Dean. His mind, his emotions, his needs and loves, his desires… and his body. Especially his body. Dean was so perfect, so handsome, Cas wanted to see him bare. He wanted to be close to the ripple of his chest – to be able to feel the heat from his stomach on his hands, to feel his entire body rise and fall with each breath he took.

How could he? Where would he find the bravery for that, now, after all that had happened? Dean's touch was like the butterfly touch before it landed, twice as careful and wary; then more firmly, fondly, determined to make its presence known. Martius's hands had been demanding. Possessively groping every inch of him, yanking him, smacking him… Castiel was ashamed to admit that even now, the thought turned him on. After each bite, came a kiss. After each smack, a jerk. Each hit, a ride he would beg for.

But just the thought of that night made that hot mess wash away, filling his insides with cold, clammy ice. Panic clogged his throat and made his hands shake. He took another long swallow of bitter beer. Flashes of Steve Rogers's jaw clenching and his blue eyes flickering with emotion distracted him from his own thoughts.

He wanted sex. He needed it. After starting, it was like a drug – stopping had withdrawals, and even after detox you always felt your mouth go dry at the idea of more. Starting again, sinking back into it, letting its poison ride you out. Now that he had Dean, now that he had such heavy, warm trust placed into his calloused hands… he had a possible candidate. A very possible one at that. Dean looked at him with such a deep, arousing ardor that it made him horny just thinking about it. His body filled with that familiar sluice. His muscles all flexed and relaxed, his sudden comfort lulling them into a rare mood. His waist begged to be stretched too, and he indulged it, sinking further down into the couch as he obliged its twist and pull. The roll of his hips roused something in his lower region that he couldn't ignore.

The movie was over anyway. He tore his eyes from the rolling credits and the empty beer was pushed onto an end table as he sat up. In a wink he was on his feet and they went from carpet to hallway hardwood in long strides. The apple core was dropped into a wastebasket by the kitchen door.

Cas went to the main bathroom, flicking on the lights. He stepped up to the shower tub and closed the drain in one swift motion. A bath. He wanted a bath. He felt the beer begin to make his thoughts sluggish. Rushing water filled his ears as he turned both handles until they slid in just the right places to create the perfect temperature, retreating to his room for fresh clothes to change into afterwards. Maybe this would help his nerves, too. A pair of boxers and a t-shirt clenched in his fist were placed onto the sink counter upon his return. He shut the door behind him and pulled a clean towel out of the closet, tossing it onto the counter as well. Then he knelt by the tub to test its temperature. His vertigo hardly swayed. His fingers sank into the river of tap. Lukewarm. Perfect.

When it was half full, he peeled off his clothes, throwing them aside, and stepped into the slowly-rising swirl. It pooled around his ankles in heat waves. First he lowered to sit, facing the rushing faucet, and then he lay back in the tub, arms on either sides. He shut his eyes. The familiar touch of the tub lining against his skin was akin to realizing your favorite thing in the house was left perfect, untouched - just so that when you returned after a long hard trip, it could be the first thing you enjoyed.

He let the heat seep into his sore muscles, stiff from stress, and took a minute to breathe in the steam coming off the water. He trusted Dean. He'd trust Dean with any emotion, any thought he had. But what he needed was to be able to trust someone with his body. He needed to know not everyone he wanted to make love to had to hurt him to get off.

Cas let his knees fall apart in the water, letting the water rush between his legs and fill all his cracks and crevices. He never felt like this. This perfect solidarity, this need rolling off him in waves…

It was Dean. He made him feel… like this. Safe. Wanted. Loved. Ready. His eyes alone were pillows you could easily fall into, his hands eager safety nets for any fall. Cas could just picture himself in those arms, sweaty, crying out for more, pleasure coursing through every inch of him – A throb to his pelvis brought to his attention that his eyes were not indeed open to watch the water level. He had drifted off.

When he blinked awake again, he was shocked to see the tip of his manhood breaking the surface of the water between his legs. The water level had risen quite a bit. He must've blinked out and back again. His entire body thrummed. It was a feeling he always enjoyed, being hard. His face flushed with scarlet, hooded eyes dilating, and he tried to swallow with his thick tongue as it lay dry in his mouth. The way he felt the force of these needs was a way he measured how long it had been since someone else had wanted to get him off. He also felt it measured how much he wished someone new would ache to get him off. It was undeniable who it was now. But though he wanted it, he knew not only that he wasn't ready, but that his ability to ask for it had driven away in an Impala. He reached down into the rippling waves and grasped his hilt. Then he gave himself what he ached for, and what he had done every time he'd felt this way since Martius had ruined his life. Except this time, a different name rolled off his lips when it was over, and it echoed down the half of his empty home, disrupting its perfect silence with groaning pleasure.


	17. Preparing

The next morning, Cas rolled over and groped the bed sleepily. His hands grasped for a body, seeking warmth where there was none. His heart throbbed. "Dean," he moaned softly. "Dean…" His faded green t-shirt was twisted around his chest, constricting his motion, and the covers were in mounds around him as if he'd had active dreams. The mattress was so big, maybe Dean had just gone further away, he thought hazily. When his arms found nothing but emptiness and cold sheets it flipped a switch in his head. He felt an icy, draining feeling when he opened his eyes and he was alone in bed. His blue eyes dilated as he blinked rapidly. Dean wasn't here. Well, of course he wasn't. Dean had never slept with him in bed before. Why did he miss him this deeply, waking up? It felt like a blow to the chest, like a piece of him had just been ripped away.

Sitting up, he ran his fingers through his fluffed-up hair and blew a sigh. His heart still ached. He was in deeper than he thought with this whole Dean thing. Maybe he should take it easy. Dean could still bolt at any time, he had never done this before after all. Cas had. He'd felt the pain. The blows. The pleasure. He knew what it took to stay, and how hard it was to leave.

Shuddering, he reached over and grabbed his maroon jacket, pulling it on. He knew what it would be like to lose it again, and was terrified of feeling those emotions again. But what he felt for Dean was growing stronger every day. Too strong to be ignored. He could only keep being there to teach him what to do, and hope Dean wouldn't get scared off by all of it. That was a dangerously thin line to walk without knowing anything about Dean's love life before this. But he was strong, and that gave Castiel courage.

Cas pushed off his covers and dragged himself out of bed, shuffling to the door. Cracking it, he looked out nervously. Light poured into his blue eyes and he squinted out into the hall. He knew nothing was going to go wrong until tonight but that did not make his nerves go away. No one was in the corridor and he could see the kitchen light on, and hear the shower running. Both of his parents were up. He slid out of his room, cautious, and breathed in the cool morning air. His soft draw-string pajama pants dragged on the floor.

Getting possibly in too deep gave him all the more reason to talk to his parents. This could become huge or go south really quickly, this relationship; he wanted them to know either who he was marrying or about to kill himself over. His bare feet padded along the cold hardwood and he rubbed his face. All right, that was a little too dark. That had happened before. Joking about it was not ok.

As he approached the kitchen he spotted his father making eggs at the stove, pushing the gooey yellow and white around with an old spatula. The smell filled the room. Although Cas had never been close with either of his parents, fearing their opinion of his homosexuality and ultimately being correct, he respected and loved both of them. It was just so strange seeing them here. Usually they were up before the sun and gone before breakfast, and back after ten, every day. The fact that they'd both cancelled their weekend plans to spend it with him was an amazing feeling.

Castiel found a smile on his father's lips when the sound of his approaching footsteps gave him away and he turned around. A worn, tanned version of his own face smiled back at him, covered in the scruff of a goatee. Deep laugh lines wrinkling around his eyes as he spotted his son's deer-in-the-headlights expression. Cas swore his dark eyes twinkled. "Hey, Cassy," his dad chuckled in his deep tone, "Good to see you."

His name was Byron. Byron Novak. Married to Cas's mother, Cassandra Novak. Usually he was pretty casual – an army-green button down shirt and jeans, so it was not unusual to see him dressed in a loose-fitting t-shirt he knew he'd just flung on when he woke up, and his green plaid pajama pants all dads seemed to have. His dark hair wasn't combed but his eyes were bright under bushy eyebrows. He turned back to his cooking with that same smile on his lips, looking smug with himself for surprising his son. He was a little taller than Cas was – probably about Dean's height – because Cas had inherited three things from his mother; her scatter-brained mind, her blue eyes, and her height. But the fifty-something man looked well rested and content while he cooked, which was usually mom's job.

"You too, dad," Cas managed a smile as he leaned against the door frame, rubbing his arm. "You look great. How've you been?"

"We've been all right. The house is pretty empty since you left, so we've been keeping busy. Your mother's got a sort of meeting today with her quilting club – she'll be back before dinner – and I've gotten closer with my co-workers, and a family I'm fixing the wiring for in their new house, too. We go out for drinks sometimes." He turned back to Cas, carrying the pan with him. "But your ol' folks are just fine, besides missing you. How've you been keeping?"

Castiel went to the cabinets and brought out three plates, grabbing three forks from the silverware drawer as his father pushed an oven mitt on the dining room table to put the pan on. He placed them all on the table as well, frowning, "I've been pretty good. My classes are going really well. Loads of work, but… I can deal with it." He went to the fridge as his dad gathered glasses for the orange juice. "English is my best class so far, besides art."

His dad leaned around the fridge door to give him a look. "English, really? I thought you didn't like writing?"

"Well, not usually. But we get these opinion papers sometimes that are fun. And the teacher loves our radical opinions." Cas laughed a bit. "It's fun to hear him read them out loud, too. It makes us want to write more outlandish things." He smiled. "But I do like reading, and we do that more."

"Good to hear. Do you have any classes with your roomie? And how's that whole situation going?" Cas fumbled with the ketchup on the fridge door as his dad pushed the glasses to each place at the table. "I know you've never had to share a room before, how do you like it?"

All Castiel could think about was the first week or two before he'd known Dean pretty well. Rolling over in the dead of night, waking from a violent nightmare that left him in cold sweats, glancing over at Dean to make sure he hadn't woken him up… only to see him sleeping like a rock. His peaceful face was like a painting; a capture in time Cas would never be able to forget. He never snored, never stirred; just lay there, looking way too handsome, and way too content, chest rising and falling gently. That was the only time he didn't frown – when he was asleep. His dreams were always peaceful. Knowing he was there, that he was all right, made Castiel's heart feel much lighter. Knowing if anything from his nightmares followed him into the waking world, that he wasn't alone... that was a treasure in itself.


	18. Family

"I really love it," Cas found himself saying, and cleared his throat. "I mean, having a roommate. It's like having a brother. He's become my best friend really fast - it's astonishing, honestly. I thought he'd be some jackass, pushing me around and taking my stuff, but…" He smiled to himself as he leaned on the back of his chair and sank down into it, one leg under him, the other dangling so just the balls of his feet touched the linoleum. He stared at his empty plate. "He's a really great guy. Not really book smart, but he works pretty hard. Quiet. Cool. You know, usually the loner type." He looked up at his dad, who sat across from him, and smiled shyly. He shrugged. "I don't know. We just clicked, I guess."

Watching his dad's dark eyes, he saw a knowledge there that scared him. Had he given too much away? But before he could stumble over an excuse, his dad smiled at him openly and nodded. "That's really great to hear, Cassy." He said warmly. And then, Cas saw it, he knew. It was there, in his eyes. He knew at once that his dad finally thought it was all right. That he accepted him and his choice to be not straight. He knew he was talking about Dean in a gay way and he was… he was ok with it. "What's his name?" He continued then, and broke eye contact to pick up the pan and dish some eggs into Cas's plate.

"Dean." Cas blurted, covering up his shock as best he could. He reached for the small plate of toast stacked high and took one, watching as he turned it around in his hand, afraid to look up again. "Dean Winchester." The toast was perfectly golden-browned, and evenly buttered. Dad cooked breakfast the best, when he did cook. He'd definitely been the one less disgusted with his life choice. His mom had pined for grandbabies, and a girl to replace the daughter she'd lost. But his dad had always just been… disappointed. Sad. He'd wanted Cas to live a normal life, with a normal family, and be a normal amount of happy and normal, with a normal job and a bit of an above-normal paycheck. Just so he didn't have to struggle like he was now – but he loved his life, and wanted to give his son the same experience.

Of course, he couldn't make him do anything. Cas could move to New York and marry a painter and live in destitution for the rest of his life with a bunch of kids they couldn't pay for. But he'd been so close – Cas was so studious, so hard-working… his dad had been so hopeful for him to be normal.

His mother bustled in then, and both of them looked up with identical surprise. A woman thick in the hips but not fat, and not too busty either, swept into the room. She bent to kiss her husband, who bloomed at her touch like a man in love, and when she drew back she was smiling sadly at her son. "Castiel," she said softly, her blue eyes drinking him in. "You look so healthy. That roommate of yours is keeping you on your toes, I see."

Her graying hazel hair fell in dry waves around her shoulders. She was not a skinny woman, but curvy, with well-kept weight and neatly-done make-up. Her dusty pink blouse was modern and conservative, her jeans khaki color. The smell of Moonlight Path perfume drifted off her, and there were dark blue flats on her feet. She walked over and kissed Castiel's forehead, pushing his hair off his forehead. Her touch was soft and warm. He smiled up at her genuinely, glad the subject of him rooming with a guy hadn't been thought about too openly. This was how she usually was, all fuss and smiles, without his… choices on her mind. Age was finally getting to her fine features, though, making the life in her cheeks fade and the light in her eyes a little more difficult to see. "I'll do any laundry you brought and I bought you a few new shirts when I was out," she continued as she sat down. "Before you go back, you'll be a crisp young man. The bag is on the blue chair in the living room." Cas's father divvied out the eggs onto her plate and his, and they all dug in happily.

"You didn't have to," Cas commented as he reached for the OJ. "I got a job in town. I'll be able to afford my own things, finally. I'll even save up for a car."

"Nonsense. You'd just buy more t-shirts!" She scolded. "I got you some nice things. You'll look handsome in them. Who wouldn't hire my boy?" She added, smiling, as if he not getting the job was ridiculous.

Waving his fork, Cas's father swallowed a mouthful of eggs. "I think that's a great, Cassy. Be your own man. Pick one out of the classifieds and make it a goal. It's what I did at your age."

Smiling, Cas bobbed his head. "I will, dad. Maybe a pick-up truck. I'd like something I can work on, so maybe a Chevy?" He knew a little about cars. Nowhere near as much as his dad, or Dean, but he could change oil, rotate tires, change spark plugs and brakes. He didn't care to work on them, but he wasn't incapable.

His dad lit up. "Even better! We can fix it nice. Paint it and everything." He loved cars. Always had. Anything he worked on, anything he fixed, ran like a dream after he had wiped his hands on an oil rag and sat back, nodding, like, 'that's it, it's perfect now.'

They talked about the job, and about mom's club, and she got into a big fluster over being late. She grabbed her purse off the counter and kissed him again and flew to the door, babbling about being back before dinner. Then she waved and was gone. Cas and his dad shared a laugh as they heard her car pull off.

"She's so happy," Castiel said quietly. "I never thought she'd be like that again."

"I know," his dad replied honestly. "She's realized that life goes on. She'll never be the same she was before Carly died, but we all grieved, and now we have to be glad she's at peace. She wouldn't want us to be so unhappy all the time." He sighed. "So, your mother and I agreed to try and live again. And here we are, with the last precious thing we have." Reaching over, he covered Castiel's hand with his own, and Cas looked at his dad with a sharp stake to his heart. He'd never thought it about like that. Tears pricked his eyes and threatened to fall, but when his dad went back to eating and Cas recovered, he knew he shouldn't. This was a happy thing. A good thing.

"I'm glad you're doing well, Cassy," his dad continued. "College was our dream for you, but you're living it for yourself. I'm very proud of you, kiddo."

"Thank you," Cas replied in a quiet voice, and he had never meant it more. They finished eating in silence. Then, like two cogs in the same machine, got up from the table and began to clean and put things away. His dad cleared off the table as he washed the dishes. They both polished off the kitchen until it was clean again before retreating back to their rooms with similar hunches to their shoulders and strides to their walk. Cas watched his dad go, hovering in the doorway to his room. He had missed this. They finally felt like a home, together again. He smiled to himself as he went inside and shut the door, rubbing the back of his head. He wondered how Dean was doing, all on his own.


	19. Folks

Dean drove to pick Cas up Sunday at three. The skies were thick with dark clouds and a low grumble of thunder far in the distance made Dean hope Cas would be quick, or else they' be caught in a torrent. He leaned forward to peer out the windshield, whistling to himself. It looked pretty bad up there. Maybe they could sleep together tonight. Not sex, not yet, but just… maybe have them be close all night. He needed it. He needed arms around him; he had felt so lost this weekend. The first time he'd been away from Cas had been quiet, but… empty. He knew it would be. They both did. But Dean was tough, he could handle it. And Cas had his family.

He had driven around: he saw the sights, drank a few beers, sat by a creek, and found a few hollows he really liked in the woods alongside the back roads. The weather had been perfect for it Saturday. But today, Dean had driven around the town three times waiting for three to hit. He'd grabbed breakfast, then lunch, then he'd driven to the college and back before it was close enough to three for him to head over. He was antsy, tense in anticipation for some reason. Maybe it had to do with yesterday morning. He'd woken up alone, but clutching his pillow instead of sleeping on it, as if… as if it were someone. As if it were Cas. Of course, he brushed it off, and went about his day, but… It had been disconcerting. Maybe Cas felt it, too.

He pulled down into the steep driveway just as it began to drizzle. Shutting off the car, he popped open the door. The air was cold, and the wind whipped his jacket as he climbed out of the Impala and strode to the side door to the house where Cas had vanished inside last time. He ducked into the cover of their garage, sliding passed a Hundai, and rapped his knuckles on the door eagerly.

What if his folks answered? He hadn't thought about that. He paled, Adam's apple bobbing as he stepped back from the door, considering bolting. But it was too late, the door knob behind the screened door, and as it creaked open he stared into the face of a tired but smiling woman he only assumed was Cas's mother. She had his eyes. He blinked, in shock, and opened his mouth a bit as if to speak. He managed a nervous smile to cover up his awkward reaction, holding out his hands. "Is Cas home?" He managed. "I'm his roommate, come to bus him back."

"You're Dean!" The woman exclaimed, and her happiness was jaded but genuine. "I'm sorry, I'm Castiel's mother. Of course he's home-"

"Dean." Came Cas's voice, and Dean lit up, looking eagerly around the kind woman to see the soft eyes of Castiel draw up behind her. His mom smiled and stepped back, letting Cas step out into the garage to embrace Dean. "Right on time." He said into Dean's neck, which pricked the nerves in the other boy's heart. What was he doing? In front of his mother?

"Of course, man," he smiled into Cas's face as he drew back and Cas noticed the terror in his eyes. His own widened.

"Mind if I talk to him for a minute?" He asked, turning to his mother. She waved her hands and nodded, teasingly, shutting the door. When her footsteps had retreated, Cas turned back to Dean with a smile that made his knees weak. "I told them."

"You… you did what?" Dean stammered, staring at him.

"I told them about… us. Sort of. What we started." He explained.

Dean took this in, nodding, and glanced around. He happened to notice Cas was wearing a simple light blue t-shirt torn at the collar, pajama pants – which turned him on – and was barefoot. He did not look ready to leave. Dean looked at him. "Am I meeting your folks?" He choked.

Castiel reached out and took Dean's face in one of his hands, drawing him in warmly, and it calmed the other at once. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to," he said gently. "They want to meet you. But they can wait. Next week. The week after. The month after. Whenever you're comfortable, Dean."

Nodding, Dean drew Cas against him, hands on his waist. "All right. Ok." He looked up at him. "I can do it. Now. But, let me just get something first." He leaned to kiss Cas warmly, and found arms thrown around his neck. He flushed with heat as Castiel sank into him with deep, passionate kissing, and wrapped his own arms tightly around Cas's waist. They just stood there, their warmth seeping out and mixing with each other's, exchanging how much they'd missed each other, until Dean pulled away. He held Cas's body against his own and took a deep breath. "Ok, let's do this."

They untangled, Cas grinning nervously, and he led the way inside the house. In the living room both of Castiel's parents were on armchairs. There was a big plush couch and an old TV and it all smelled like cleaning products and candles. Dean liked it at once. It felt like a home. Cas's mother was modestly built and looked very much like she had just recovered from depression. His father was a spitting image of him – only taller, more laid-back. He smiled at both people as they rose, and he shook their hands.

"This is Dean," Cas said to them. "Dean, this is my father, Byron Novak, and my mother, Cassandra Novak."

"It's a pleasure, you two," Dean said genuinely. "Really. Cas is a real good guy, you did something right with him."

"It took some effort, but not much," his dad winked, and they laughed. "Please, come on in. Take a seat."

Dean and Cas sat close on the couch, and his folks sat back down in their separate chairs. Rubbing his chin, Dean glanced at Cas, smiling, and then at his dad. The same posture hung there. The same motion of his arms and legs. Cas was more uptight, more flighty, like Cassandra seemed to be, and his dad was casual. Cool. Full of warm contentment.

"So, kiddo," the older man said in his friendly tone, looking him over. "Tell us what you're studying, what your parents do." He waved his hand. "Anything you wanna mention."

A chuckle escaped Dean's lips. He shrugged, holding out his hands. "Well, ah, I'm studying American History, actually – I never thought it'd be my thing, but hey. Cowboys and Indians. My mom died when I was a kid, and dad was in pest control for a long time. Well… more like all my life. But he went, ah… missing… before my brother made me decide to stop traveling and go to school."

"Missing?" Cas's mom asked worriedly, to which Dean nodded, smiling a bit bitterly.

"Yeah. He went out on a job and never came home. I helped him out for years, even when my brother Sam left to go to college, and he just… took off. I haven't seen him since."

Cas's dad sat back in his chair in shock. "No parents. Wow, kiddo, that's rough."

Dean nodded. "Without my brother, I don't know what I'd have done with myself. I couldn't work alone. I wasn't… certified." He laughed a bit. "But without Cas here, I don't know where I'd be after Sammy dropped me off. I probably would have bolted." He said honestly, and he saw both their eyes soften. "He just kind of anchored me down, made sure I knew I had somebody to help me, and he got me to stay, you know? I was lost after my dad left, and he just… he got to me. Just like that."

They exchanged a smile, and Cassandra folded her hands in her lap. "We can tell you're a good guy, Dean," she began, "you might be a bit afraid of us, but honestly we've never seen Castiel happier. Not in a long time. So we're just going to welcome you into the family – all the more important now knowing you don't have parents of your own around – and say that you're welcome here, in our house, at any time. If Cas is happy, we are happy. And if Cas loves you, so will we." Her kindness struck Dean, who sat looking surprised until Cas nudged him gently.

"I – I am?" He stammered. "I mean, I just… Thank you." Open mouth, insert foot, he thought helplessly. Parents, man. He looked them both in the eye and clasped his hands together. They were so lacking in the judgment he'd expected – so calm in the face of a gay son and his boyfriend (he cringed at the word). It was admirable. A breath of fresh air. "Thank you both," he said warmly. "I've never had a… home. Not like this. You two, and Cas, you've got a good thing here. So thank you for letting me be with him – and letting me be a part of all this." He smiled, they smiled, Cas teared up, and Dean felt like his heart was filling up to the brim, and spilling out all of the jagged cracks and tears beaten into it over the years.

* * *

_Don't forget to review the chapters, if you would be so kind._


	20. Thrown into Darkness

On their way out the door, the rain began to pour. Cas hugged his parents goodbye and grabbed his stuff and they ran to the car. He threw his bags in the back and they slammed their doors, locking the weather outside. Dean started it up and the headlights cut through the darkening evening. Cas watched his waving parents as they backed out of the driveway, tears gleaming in his eyes, and he rubbed his nose as they pulled away in a rumble of the Impala's engine. Dean reached over and grabbed his hand, and they drove like that through the abandoned streets, rain glistening in their hair and eyes bright with happiness and unshed tears.

"They were happy for me," Cas whispered when they turned into thick town traffic. "I thought they would be mad, I was so afraid they'd…" He trailed off, and Dean spread his hand over Castiel's on the other boy's thigh.

"You've got some folks, Cas, I'll give you that," he smiled. "That was damn impressive."

They exchanged a sympathetic look. "Yeah." Cas chuckled. "My dad said to me yesterday, when I first told them, 'If this Dean is half the man you say he is, he sounds like a perfect match for you.'"

"He called you 'Cassy.' That was something I expected from you mom, maybe, but I kinda like-"

"Don't even think about it."

Dean laughed, and shook his head. "Ok, Cas. Anything you say… anything you say." He said the last part with a sort of affection that was pretty revealing for the sarcastic façade he kept up. It susprised them both. Dean cleared his throat awkwardly, and Cas looked over at him, eyebrows raised. Dean glanced at him furtively with embarrassment. Breaking into a slow smile, the blue-eyed boy reached over and slid his fingers behind Dean's ear. His fingers sank into his fine nut brown hair, drifting along the nape of his neck. Sighing, Dean mapped out his touch. Each twitch. Each rub. When the hand slid away, the ghost of his fingertips remained, making Dean's scalp tingle with it.

The water fell in fat drops from the sky, splattering all over the windshield and the car, making Dean squint through his windshield wipers as they turned onto the last leg of road before they got to the campus. Overhead, thunder cracked and roared, making Cas press his face to the window and peer up with wonder at the sky. Dean jumped when lightning flashed, and Cas reached over and took his hand, squeezing it for comfort. While Dean muttered about the weather, his passenger huddled closer to him in his own seat. Visibility reduced to 30% as the rain began to smack them in sheets, the power of the thunder growing louder and louder in their ears. Cars slid passed, crawling, but Dean knew what he was doing. He used every sense he had to make sure they were still on the road, still safely on the way to their sanctuary.

Dean was growing anxious. The college should be here, closer than this. Maybe he was just afraid of anything happening while Cas was in the car – but he could have sworn he missed the turn off to the college. The clouds blocked out all the sun. Everything was pitch black, and it was hardly six at night. Headlights slid over them as cars drove passed them on this two-lane road. Dean swallowed, throat dry, and Cas glanced at him. Every time a car went passed his blue eyes were filled with golden light and his hair shone chocolate brown, the worried part of his lips and furrow of his brow defined. They were lost, and Cas knew it, and Dean knew it, but he hoped dearly that they weren't.

"Maybe we should pull over," Cas said, breaking the deafening silence, and Dean growled.

"We should've been there already," he rambled worriedly. "We passed it somewhere. I can't see anything in this storm."

"Just turn around. Don't worry, we'll find it," Cas's soothing words were like adding aloe to an really bad sunburn. It helped at first, but it would take a while to seep in and neutralize the rest of the hot, burning anger Dean felt over getting them lost. Headlights peeked from around a turn, and Dean glanced over to see Cas's face lit up with their glow, soft and forgiving, without an ounce of fear in it. The trust there broke his stubborn anger, and he nodded.

"All right," he conceded. "I'll-"

"DEAN!" Cas shouted so hard his voice broke, eyes fixed forward and blown wide, his face morphing in terror, and Dean's eyes snapped back to the road just in time.

All Dean saw was a flash of headlights mere feet away heading straight for them. Hot, agonizing fear filled every crevice of his body, and in one sixteenth of a second he was reacting. Faster than his brain could comprehend, he jerked the wheel, and flung the Impala off the road into a ditch, launching them out of the way of a massive tractor trailer. Dean's heart thundered in his chest. The truck narrowly missed rolling on top of them, taking off one of Dean's side view mirrors with a distinct PING as it plunged onto its side on the road, its scraping metal grinding against asphalt roaring over the torrent of rain. It was like a monster crashing out of the sky.

They, though, were out of the frying pan and into the fire. Neither of them made a sound, only braced themselves, adrenaline and fright freezing their arms and legs. Both clung on tightly – Dean to the wheel and Cas to his seatbelt – as they flew off road over rocks and mounds of wet earth, the entire car shaking back and forth like mad. Dean was braking furiously before they hit anything in front of them in the blackness he could not decipher… but it was too late. The Impala smacked into an immovable object and the force of the impact shattered the windshield. The sound of glass screaming filled their ears, and the jarring yank of their motion slammed to a stop rattled both their rag-doll bodies to the core. Glass was flying everywhere, and then rain poured in, smacking both of them in the face.

Dean's arm flew out to hold back Cas before he was hurt and his own head cracked against the steering wheel with whip-lash and a sickening sound, the clean taste of rain and the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth and his nose. It made him choke desperately as consciousness was ripped mercilessly away from him and he tumbled headlong into a soul-sucking darkness, the very last part of his waking mind screaming for his angel.


	21. An Hour's Tale

Castiel woke up in the pouring rain. In his ears high-pitched bells rang, and the world dipped and spun to his tired eyes. The memory of the crash struck him across the face. His heart stammered and stuttered and banged against his ribcage as he looked over to see Dean, pale and bloody beside him, unconscious. His voice went raw with calling out his name in blind fear. His hands were pale and weak as he tried to shake his shoulder and wake him, touching his face with a rough tenderness that was born from panic. Cold, wet rain smothered his hands and arms and both of their bodies, and as he rubbed blood from Dean's cheek it mixed with the water on his arm and dripped along the length of his elbow.

He fumbled with his seatbelt, groaning in protest as his sore chest was relieved from its pressure. Panting puffs of mist into the cold air pouring in through the shattered windshield, he pushed the door open and leaned sideways against the car, rubbing his face. It hurt to move. It hurt to breathe. Everything was roaring with damp, hard rain. But Dean – Dean looked… _dead_. Trembling like a live wire was attached to them, his hands yanked out his cellphone and dialed 911. It rang for a few moments as he pressed it to his ear, drowning out the bells clanging endlessly in his head_. _

_"Hello, this is 911, what is your emergency?"_

His voice was scratchy and hoarse from yelling as he rattled off to the operator the address of the street they'd missed. "We were about twenty minutes passed that turn when a tractor trailer almost hit us head-on," Cas rambled, as calmly as he could manage. "My boyfriend was driving. He got us out of the way, but it fell over on the road, and it was dark and rainy, and - and the car hit an oak tree. He has a bad head injury and I'm unsure of the state of the tractor trailer driver. There was no one else."

_"And you, sir, what is your condition?"_

"I'm fine. I'm ok - he put out his arm and absorbed most of the impact, though, so he took… he took a lot of damage. He's unconscious – he looks dead." Cas felt his voice fill with emotion and cut it off, swallowing it hard until it was like a thing in his throat. It tried to crawl its way up and pour heavy tears from his eyes and push shuddering sobs from his lips. He fought against its tiny hands clawing at his nerves by taking deep, ragged breaths. Droplets pelted his face and hands as he squinted into the night as if that would make the ringing in his ears go away. The rain slid down his shirt and soaked his clothes through and through. He began to shiver violently from the chill.

_"An ambulance is dispatched to your location, ma'am; help is on the way."_

"… Ma'am?" Cas blurted, the surprise choking down his panic.

_"Uh, I'm sorry, sir. I just-"_

"It's fine, um… its ok. I did say boyfriend," he conceded wearily, "I've never met a girl with this much gravel in her throat, though."

_"You'd be amazed at what changes your body goes through during adrenaline spikes. Can you walk, sir? Can you check the state of the truck driver?"_

"Yeah, I can. Let me just check on Dean. My driver."

_"Try not to move him until the paramedics arrive, sir - his condition may be worse than it appears to be."_

"Of course. I just… I want to see how extensive the damage is." Cas wavered dangerously on jelly legs, but he stumbled around the car to Dean's side, wrenching his door open. He leaned halfway on the seat and slid inside, cradling the phone to his ear as he examined the battered man. "Those damn seatbelts hurt like hell. They did a number on him, too. He's got a thick bruise along his throat from it," he said aloud, hoping to get feedback and not feel so horrifyingly frozen and alone with Dean dying or dead in the car seat beside him. He went to the back seat and popped open his duffel bag, getting out a clean black t-shirt. He went back to Dean and tied it around his forehead, where it was bleeding quite profusely from his slashed brow. Head wounds do that, he told himself, keeping his anxiety at bay.

_"Without those seatbelts, you'd be through the windshield, sir. You're lucky to be alive." _The gentle male tone on the other end sounded so young, and so ignorant, but Cas was just glad for company inthe dark.

"It wasn't luck. Dean saved me from the worst of it," Cas replied. "I wrapped his head wound. I'm going to go to the truck driver now."

_"Good luck, sir. Be careful."_

"Thank you. What's your name? You sound so young." Cas asked as he slid out of the car and began to wobble towards the overturned truck a few yards off. He covered ground pretty quickly in his dizzy state. But the kind voice on his phone was keeping him level, keeping the creature of anguish from getting too far up his throat.

_"Johnathan, sir. Johnathan Fraden. I'm nineteen."_

"Well it's nice to meet you, Johnathan. My name is Castiel. You already know Dean - he's the one sitting slumped against the steering wheel with a t-shirt around his head." Cas lifted his free arm to shield himself from the downpour. "When is this storm supposed to be over, Johnny?"

_"The weather channel says soon. Maybe an hour or so."_

"Good. I'm soaked through. I don't think, if I live through this, that I'll ever be warm again."

_"You will, sir, everything will be all right. These people know their stuff. You and Dean will be just fine, I promise."_ Cas felt a bitter sadness feeding the creature in him. What was the promise of a child? Why did he feel so helplessly numb, as if Dean was already dead? Where were the flashing lights and news cameras? He shuddered just thinking about it. He was lost without help; they better be fast. If he stopped moving, he'd lose himself entirely to the heavy depression he felt dragging at his arms and legs.

Castiel laughed aloud to banish away the heaviness, glancing back through the whipping weather at the car. Its hood was hardly dented, the fold in the bumper very apparent. Besides its missing mirror it looked fine, which annoyed him for some reason. He still felt awful, though. His laughter only felt sour in his mouth. "I sure hope so. Dean's a better man than I. Without him, I'm nothing again." He whispered, but he was sure it was lost in the roar of rain.

_"You're something to me, sir." _Cas bit back a sob, rubbing his eyes furiously to get the freezing dampness out of them. There was such a genuine sweetness in Johnathan's tone. It was as if Castiel could see him, sitting at his desk by a glowing computer, in a posh dress shirt and slacks, watching the screen worriedly as he spoke to a faceless victim. Cas went to the windshield of the truck and peered inside. The truck driver was pinned in his cab, one door smashed against the ground and the other too far away for him to reach. His arm was injured, as well as his foot, and miraculously, otherwise he was all right. He babbled nonsensical apologies at Cas, who just bit his tongue and walked away; there would be no forgiveness, and no apologies heard, until Dean was safe again.

He told Johnathan the man was fine, just roughed up a bit, and that's when he heard the sirens. He waved his arms and cried out and in seconds he was flooded with flashing lights and worried shouting. They screeched to a stop by the fallen truck and came running with stretchers and first aid kits full of miracles. He pointed to the Impala, rambling about how he'd tried to wrap Dean's head wound. Half the workers ran to Dean's aid. The other half either began climbing the truck to free the driver there, or swarmed Castiel. He found himself being stripped of his clothes in the back of an ambulance before he could even blink. He lay on a stretcher, being poked and prodded for internal injury, and he clung to the bed, his entire body convulsing with the cold. Out of the rain and into the gurney.

Once they were satisfied all he had was a pressure bruise from the seatbelt across his chest, they sat him up, pushed a hot drink into his hand, and wrapped him in shock blankets. Cas watched them wheel Dean up in a stretcher, cradling his phone to his cheek. Johnathan prattled in his ear as he watched them put his injured roommate into another ambulance. He pressed his phone to his chest. "Can I go with him, please?" He pleaded with the workers, and they waved at him to go. He ran to Dean's ambulance and slid inside just as the doors were shutting.

In a corner seat, wrapped in blankets and otherwise in his damp boxer shorts, he watched them furiously work around Dean to get him hooked up and get his vitals taken. Their medical language was foreign to him. All he could hear was Johnathan in his ear and alarm in the voices of the paramedics and all he could see was the gray of Dean's cheeks in the dim light of the ambulance.


	22. The White Wallpaper

Castiel sat in a square room with sterile white walls, and small uncomfortable chairs, and listened to the beeping of the machines hooked up to the boy in the hospital bed. The wallpaper and the ceiling and the floors were mocking him. Laughing. His pain was just the slightest of many to pass through their company. He clutched to Dean's discarded shirt and buried his face into it. They were constant. This whole place was mocking him. He had pulled his seat as close to Dean as he could. Every now and then he would get up, and lean over him, and check his color, and tuck in the blankets a little tighter around his body, a heavy storm behind his cloudy eyes. The laughter of the room was not enough to push him out.

Disheveled, hair tossed, dark smudges under his eyes, Cas sank back into the chair with his eyes intent on Dean's face. He had been doing this for three days – siting, and letting sadness swallow him up, and waiting. On top of a bruised bone in his arm from protecting Castiel, and severe bruising, the diagnosis was that Dean had a very bad concussion. His brain was recovering, healing itself, and was not particularly damaged - but it was working hard to repair what was hurt, and his body had not taken the crash well. It would be surprising if he didn't slip into a coma for who knows how long. The doctors told him there was about an 80% chance Dean would wake up tired and hungry in a week or so, and a 20% chance that he'd wake up next year or not at all. Why? If he was fine, couldn't they just pull him out of the coma? Why did he have to lay there if he was all right? They were not helpful. Busy, they waved off his questions and glided off like ghosts down the narrow hall, eager to get to more interesting patients. So, Cas would retreat back to the room, his feet still sore from the walk from the college, and sink into a chair for hours.

The waiting was the worst part. The mocking walls glaring down on him. The cold air made him shiver and shudder. Reaching into the small wardrobe in the room, he would retrieve Dean's tattered clothing and press the folded stack of it to his chest. He would sit down and crush it to his heart, letting the smell of blood and sweat and Dean sink into him as if osmosis would bring him closer to him, and then Dean closer to waking… But mostly it just crushed his heart. Sometimes Cas felt awful enough to spill tears all over the clothes… but he did not. He was not going to be helpless in front of Dean. He needed strength. Support. Then he'd feel well enough to wake up.

Cas came in every day, and the nurses always told him Sam had come by. Sam popped in right after classes and seemed to leave just before Cas arrived – every time. He was even more devastated than Cas was. Difference was, Sam knew Dean would be furious if he didn't do his schoolwork, so he forced himself to leave and do homework into the early hours of the morning.

Cas had tried to go to class, and bolted after twenty minutes and run to the hospital in half the time it normally took. He just felt as if Dean needed him – needed someone to pull him in from the other side, where he was dreaming of him, waiting for a hand to reach down and yank him out. He had taken a leave of absence granted by the school and his teachers to be with Dean. So he went and he sat and he stared at the walls and at Dean's handsome face and felt that creature clawing its way up his throat again, and tried - and failed - to be strong.

Deep, heavy darkness came with the clawing hands, and he did not fight it this time. He couldn't. It sank into his chest and swam in his eyes and settled in his heart and made its home with echoing malicious laughter, its effects becoming clearer and clearer. There was a darkness to Cas's gaze. His lips were pressed into a thin line. Unshed tears shone there every moment he looked at his sleeping lover. His shoulders were slouched, his back bent as if a great burden had broken it. He never brushed his hair anymore. It lay in soft spikes on his head untamed and ignored. His hands were weak, pale, and they shook when he reached for things. His whole body racked with throbbing sadness he could not contain.

All for a boy who should wake but wouldn't.

The nurses also said Dean was doing very well, still breathing on his own and stirring occasionally as if he were dreaming. Those were signs he hadn't receded into a coma yet. But after they had gone, taking their comforting smiles with them, the bleak in the room had sunk into Cas. He'd slunk over to the white wardrobe and fumbled for the shirt in the drawer. And now he was cradling it as he watched Dean's peaceful face, so, so pale, but at least not grey anymore - his own heart felt constant stakes shoved deeper and deeper through it.

Castiel's parents had come by once. Sam, he had not yet seen in person. The nurses were fleeting, the doctors walking through walls, unreachable. Besides that Cas had been alone. His whole life, someone had been there: his sister, a comforting whisper in the dark, whether it be during a thunderstorm on vacation when their parents were dead asleep or just an embrace on nights he couldn't sleep; Martius when he broke down over being different, even though he was poison; his parents when his whole life had been turned upside down; and then Dean.

Humming with life, his eyes winking with mischief, a damaged soul in a fetching vessel. He was perfect. His arms were perfect, and they gave perfect hugs; warm and sincere. His lips were perfect. Their touch was like a sedative and an energy shot at the same time. His heart was hurt. His head was damaged – and not just physically. Losing a father, being without a defined purpose… that had done something to him. But Cas had been fixing it. Repairing him. It was all going so well, he'd been so happy, both of them had, and now…

Thick tears threatened to snarl his lashes and blur his eyes. He sniffed and rubbed them viciously on his sleeve, the wrenching sobs rolling out of his heart and tripping passed his lips as he tried to subdue it. There was no stopping it now. He wept. Not a sound besides the heartbeat read by the machines had filled the air in so long. Tears spilled off his long-unshaven cheeks, slipping and grabbing at his stubble, and sank into his sleeve and his knees, his whole body bent over until his forehead almost touched them, arms wrapped around the shirt, and in turn himself. His echoing sadness filled the room with sound; audible heartbreak.

The air was clogged with the feel of defeat and hopeless pining. He couldn't stand it. He scrubbed at his cheeks and rose from his chair. The shirt he held fell onto the seat he left open. All the tubes were in Dean's left hand, so Castiel slid to his other side and pushed down the guard gate on the bed. He lifted himself clumsily and settled in beside the warm body that once held the vivacious life of the gruff, brooding, warm boy he had fallen hard for, the sheets cold against his bare arms and neck. His nose pressed into Dean's neck, his arm reaching to rest on his chest, a hand over his beating heart, and pressed himself as flush with the boy as best he could. He sniffed, tears soaking the pillow, and let the steady sound of Dean's pulse in his neck sooth him until his chest had loosened from the tightness of tears and he had drifted off, peace finally finding him in this lonely place.

Footsteps did not reach his ears. The shimmer of longer brunette hair and soft dark eyes flashed in the window briefly before hovering back. A figure loomed in the misty glass, peering with curious intent at the double figures on the bed. He pushed open the door silently and stopped in the doorway in shock. Cas asleep beside his brother.

Sam rubbed his head, confused, and couldn't decide between owing himself 20 bucks for figuring out Cas was gay with his brother, or being angry he was too close to him when he was hurt. Only he should ever be that close – and even then, not so physically. He felt a twinge of jealousy and winced. Cas was obviously having just as bad a time as he was, how could he be angry? Shutting the door quietly behind him, he went to the chair and lifted Dean's shirt from it, clutching it in his fist. He glanced at Cas sadly and sank into the chair, the shirt in his lap. He missed Dean just as much as Sam did. Sighing, the brother sat back, gazing at the shirt, then at Dean's still face, and finally at Castiel, the rumpled kid sharing warmth with his big brother.


	23. A Pleasant Surprise

It was an hour before Castiel stirred. He felt something push against his side, and sleep was drawn off him like warm covers on a winter morning. The bright hospital lights were blinding. Blinking sleepily, he took in a deep breath and stretched a little, carefully, well aware of his close proximity to Dean, before his head whirred to life and began to take in his surroundings. Only then was he aware of words being spoken over his head. He frowned. Dean had been asleep for days. Why did he hear someone speaking…? He got a hot flush realizing someone may have come across him in bed with a patient and lifted his head in alarm, glancing around for onlookers.

"Nice of you to join us," came a sleepy voice, and Castiel felt his heart take off.

"Dean?" He drew back and looked up from the shoulder he had been sleeping on, eyes round as dinner plates, and a tired chuckle met his ears. It _was_ Dean! Pale, looking exhausted but awake and alive, he was squinting down at him with an easy smirk. He looked as if he'd been up for at least a few minutes. It only occurred to him then that Dean had said 'us.' He glanced up to see Sam sitting in the chair beside the bed, blood rushing to his entire face. "Sam… I-I-" He stammered in mortification, his face and the tips of his ears burning hot.

Humming genially, Sam's dark eyes softened further on Castiel as he let his lips curl into a slightly awkward but still friendly smile. He chuckled. "It's ok, Cas. You're fine."

An arm beside Cas stirred, and he shifted instinctively to let Dean's arm loose from where he pinned it between their bodies. He looked up in stiff shock as Dean draped the arm around him and drew him closer. "Come here," Dean smiled. "I've been out a couple days, according to Sam, and I need some of you."

Heart melting, Cas felt tears prick the corners of his eyes. Sam forgotten, he pressed his hot face into the crook of Dean's shoulder and pressed his hands against his chest and shut his eyes. "Dean." He muffled softly. Dean's hand rubbed up and down his back, giving his shoulder a squeeze.

"Now that is a nice feeling. Wanna join, Sammy?" Dean teased his brother.

A light laugh met him in reply. "No, I'm good, thanks. I'm really glad to see you up, Dean. How do you feel?"

"Friggin starving. I could really use a cheeseburger. Wow, I'm tired." He put his head back and groaned. "I just slept for days, why am I so tired?"

"Well, at this point, we're just glad you're awake. You took quite a blow to the head."

"Did I?" Dean mumbled.

"Yeah. You were in a car accident. In the Impala."

"Oh, yeah. Damn," Dean whispered. "That was bad… Cas!" He lifted his head, and so did Castiel, and he looked the dark haired male over worriedly. "Are you all right? Jesus, I forgot we even crashed."

"I'm all right, Dean," Cas replied softly. "You put out your arm and saved me some damage."

He felt the emotion coursing through Dean that gave him the strength to pull Castiel closer with one arm, and press his lips to his forehead, hard. "Thank God," Dean breathed, and Cas drew back when he was released, smiling.

"The car is fine, too. Just body damage, no structure," Sam offered. "Your baby is back in one piece."

"That's damn good too," Dean sighed happily and put his head back, shutting his eyes. "Damn, I'm tired." His voice was losing strength, quivering near the end of each sentence, and he swallowed often, trying to keep it level.

Sam smiled and got up, hands on his knees. "Well, I'll tell the nurses you're up on my way out. Get plenty of rest. We'll have you up on your feet again in no time." He reached out and Dean smiled at him as Sam put a hand on his shoulder. "Good to have you back, bro."

"Good to be back," Dean smiled. Sam nodded to Cas and left, an ease to his step, and Castiel propped himself up on one arm.

Cas looked at Dean affectionately. "I'll go, too. It's late. You should get some rest." He went to get up and a hand clutched his shoulder. Looking back in surprise he saw Dean shaking his head slowly.

"Not yet," he pleaded, and Cas was struck by his weakness of tone. He was still broken. Even awake, he was still hurt. Maybe this had been a good idea; had another body woken Dean up? Either way, if Dean wanted him to stay longer, he would stay and wait. Pressing himself back against Dean he reached up and kissed his jawline once, sweetly. That rewarded him with a pleasured sigh from the tired man. Then Cas put his head on Dean's chest and the secure arm around him loosened its tight grip. Cas pressed his chest with his hot palms, flush with his soft curves, and drifted in and out of sleep. Who knew how long he lay there; but he didn't wake up fully until he realized Dean was asleep again. His chest slowly rose and fell, gentle murmurs slipping from his lips as he dreamed. The arm was slack against the bed. Castiel slid away as carefully as possible, and when his sneakers touched the floor he sighed in silent relief. He hadn't woken him. Even though he was screaming internally with the loss of the smell and feel and warmth of Dean, he knew he shouldn't stay. He pulled the blankets up around Dean and stepped back cautiously.

It was almost nine. They'd kick him out soon. He _had _to leave. Sure, he wanted to stay until he was awake again, but… He'd be back early tomorrow, just in case. Licking his lips, Cas tore his gaze from Dean and grabbed his things. He took Dean's tattered clothes and shoved them into his backpack. He'd bring him new ones tomorrow. Then he left, shutting the door silently, and walked off down the hall, rubbing his arm. A bubbling grin mixed with a throb of joy brought more tears to his eyes. He sniffed and rubbed them away as he made his way to the lobby. The walk back to the college would be a long one. He signed out on the visitors list, hands shaking, and smiled shyly at the nurses who bid him good-bye. When he put his shoulder to the door and let himself out into the cold night the darkness was a greeting this time instead of a smothering presence. He smiled at the stars overhead and crossed his arms tightly across his chest to keep warm.

"Hey," came a voice, and Cas jumped out of his skin. He looked over to see Sam standing by the Impala, as if waiting. Sam gave a sheepish grin. "I figured you'd like a ride home."

Cas squinted at him. "You… Are you sure?" He asked nervously.

Sam laughed. "I may be big but I'm harmless, I swear," he chuckled. "Come on. It's cold." He climbed into the car, and Castiel glanced around before approaching the passenger's side and sliding inside. He settled against the cold leather with a shiver. Sam already had the engine cranked and the heat going. The cold air swirled against the car windows. As they buckled in and pulled off, Sam glanced over at Castiel. "So, uh… We've met, but I've only heard what Dean says of you. And he says a bunch, but I figured I'd want to talk to you myself someday."

Castiel nodded nervously, soaking up the heat in the car as he watched Sam. "Dean talks about me?" He asked hesitantly.

"Oh yeah," Sam joked. "All he talks about is what you guys do. How chill you are, how you like to draw, how you two should join a fraternity like me." The lamplights slid over his chiseled face and his soft smile. "I had a feeling he was enamored with you."

Cas looked at his shoes, smiling to himself. "Yes. He did mention that."

"Yeah. Cas, I… I just wanted to say, that I'm ok with it."

Blue eyes flickered with surprise on Sam's face. "You…?" Cas trailed off, eyebrows raised.

Sam nodded largely, glancing over at him with such a soft, genuine look. "Yes. I'm totally ok with it." Cas blinked, taken aback, and Sam sighed. "Dean is completely nuts over you, Cas. I've never seen him that crazy over anybody. He talks about you, and your art, and when he says your name he gets all…" He made an awkward hand motion, the other on the steering wheel. "Gushy and gross – it's totally weird. For him, I mean. Back in the room? He was glad to see me. But the moment you looked at him… He's happy. Really happy." Sam said sincerely. "Finally living his life like a normal person, too, because of you. So not only am I ok with it, I want to say that I'm… impressed. I thought he'd fly off in a stolen car after dad went missing. You are literally the only thing that got him to like his life here." Sam looked him in the eye. "Thanks. Really, Cas. You've done something for him I could never do. You've given him a home."

Cas stared at Sam and his eyes filled with emotion again. Sam smiled at him kindly when he saw, and Cas looked away. He was angry with himself for crying again. Rubbing his nose on his jacket sleeve, he shook his head, sighing shakily. "I'm sorry for being such a baby about everything. I've never been like this before, I don't know what's wrong with me." A silent thought passed between them; he was in love, that's what was 'wrong' with him. "Thank you, Sam. Honestly. I… I don't know how to put it. Just, that makes me feel like I can rest easier." He confessed. "I was worried you'd think I was some gay stranger. And I am, sort of; I'm not completely normal, granted, but I just really… love your brother. Helping him has been the best experience of my life." He looked over at Sam, smiling, and Sam returned it. "I'm truly humbled."

Sam dropped him off, rolling down the window. "You seem like a great guy, Cas. I'm glad it's you Dean's got to help him out."

"Thank you, Sam. I'll do everything for him that I can." Cas clutched his backpack strap and smiled as Sam said good-night and rolled the window back up, and drove off into the night. The gathering clouds overhead made Cas uneasy, though, so he drew back into the dorm room and shut the doors and windows, memories of the night of the crash flashing back to him. He felt better when he curled up under blankets in the dark and drifted off, mind eased now that Dean was finally getting better. 

* * *

_Don't forget reviews... please and thank you._


	24. Finality

Castiel visited Dean for two days until he was finally released from the hospital – that Saturday morning. Cas wheeled him outside as Sam held open the heavy doors, and into the morning sunlight they went. It was a warm change that they all took a deep breath of. Cas pushed the wheelchair to the Impala and helped Dean into the passenger's seat, minding his head. The doctor prescribed a ban on vigorous sports and exertion, and told him to get lots of food and sleep until he could walk straight again, but besides that he told them Dean would heal up nicely. Sam paid the bill with some unknown cash well and then drove them home. The whole way Dean whined for a cheeseburger, so they stopped and got lunch for breakfast before continuing on their way. When finally sated, Dean was content.

Sam made sure Cas could carry Dean's heavy frame before he waved good-bye and drove away. As his tail lights vanished, Dean sighed into the cool breeze. "It's good to be back."

Castiel managed to get him inside and safely on his bed without injury. At once Dean lay down, dragging his legs up, boots and all, to bury his face into his pillow. He moaned in happiness as Cas shut the door and an infectious smile bloomed on his lips while he watched.

"Damn it's good to have my own bed back." Dean pursed his lips, eyes shut. "Do I smell… a cute guy?" He squinted up at Cas. "Did you sleep in my bed while I was gone?"

"I… Yes," Castiel murmured guiltily, red blush rushing up his neck. Long lonely nights full of suffocating worry had driven him into Dean's bed, to bury himself in Dean's sheets, and Dean's smell, and Dean's place, as if just being there reverberated with his presence. He'd slept like a baby with the scent of Dean's shampoo on the pillow.

" 'S ok," Dean nodded in understanding from his limp sprawl across the rumple of blankets.

Cas kicked off his sneakers, emptying his pockets onto the desk. "How do you feel?" He questioned, walking over to unlace and pull off Dean's boots. One by one, he tossed them into the corner. Then he went to the window and opened it, pulling up the blinds. A sprawling view of the lake appeared and the beautiful breeze took the stale air out of the room and whisked it away.

Dean sighed. "Like a weakling. A breeze could push me over… if I was standing. I hate feeling this helpless." He grumbled that last part.

"Well, some sun, some fresh air, and some food, and you'll be better than ever. Besides it gives me a chance to look after you." Castiel bent over and pushed Dean's hair off his forehead, peering at his tired childish expression. "You don't have a fever, and you've got some color back. Must be the cheeseburger."

"Does wonders," Dean chuckled, looking up at him. "Come here." He made a lazy motion with is arm and Cas patiently slid into the bed beside him, on his side, and Dean used the last of his energy to twine their legs and pull him closer. They pressed together with their bodies flush with one another's, and Dean's happy sigh was so genuine that it could be felt as well as heard. Their eyes met and swam together. "You know, I heard you. In the hospital." He said quietly.

Looking at him with a shameful flush, Castiel winced. "You did?" His rueful tone brought out a warm smile in Dean. He'd cried pretty pathetically. I mean, it had been pretty rough.

"It did a few things for me." Dean confessed. "One, it made me pissed that I couldn't just sit up and get better so you wouldn't feel like that anymore. Two, it woke me up – I didn't even realize I was asleep until then. And three…" One of his hands slid along Cas's cheek and along his soft ears and into his hair, grabbing it with a kind ferocity as he gazed into his face. "It made me realize just how bad it hurt you. Now, I know you're kind hearted, but it was a real eye-opener to see how upset you were over 'lil 'ol me." Castiel glanced down, and then back up, and stared at him with shy nerves as his eyes soaked up Dean's. He swallowed. Somber, Dean glanced him over. "Now I don't know if there's a line not to be crossed here, but…" He licked his lips. "I think… That is… I'm feeling like I love you, Cas."

A ripple of shock snapped through Castiel, his lips falling apart. He… But…? His brain pitched and whirled, and it was pretty clear in his eyes. Dean gave him a worried look. Cas glanced away, down at his hands, where he had absently curled fist fulls of Dean's shirt between his fingers. "I…" He croaked. "Dean, I…" The heart behind his ribcage thundered with anxiety and elation beyond his most incredible hopes. Not only did Dean… but he also… Wow. "I'm sorry." His throat was closing up with emotion, and he fought it back, swallowing and nodding as he looked back up into eyes as honey golden as aged whiskey. "Me, too. I do too. I mean, you, of course, but…" He trailed off, and Dean wrapped him in a bear hug, pressing his nose into his dark hair. Cas sank into him, slack with relief, and let the crushing warmth of it fill him to the brim.

"You are..." Dean smiled gently against his hair, "So damn cute."

Castiel's entire face was red now. His ears burned with it. Why was he such a goddamn dork? That had been such a big moment for both of them, and that's all he had to say? His face was radiating heat, but not as much heat as the chest he was buried in. He was incredibly happy. Dean was like an outlaw out of a dream and he was in love with _him_. A little small-town artist. Just some gay kid, from the mountains. It was like something people fantasize about. Like a novel, or a movie. His breath hitched in his chest and he squeezed his eyes shut and just tried to relax away the stuffy elation pushing its way through his eyes and nose. His tears had been so over used this week that he wasn't sure how exhausted he would feel if he let any more fall. It was stupid to cry when he was this happy.

"No more of that," Dean murmured, and drew back so Castiel had to look up at him with a pinched, emotional expression. "Relax a little, don't stress yourself out; God knows you've done that enough this week over me." He shifted his hand to Cas's waist, kneading the flesh there. His touch made Castiel's nerves flex and loosen up. "Relax." The dark haired boy shut his eyes. Relax. Relax. He let out a deep breath and let his mind track the motion of Dean's fingers as he settled his mind. No more worries. No more craziness. Just him, and Dean. Relax. It worked too. His heart stopped stammering; even his thoughts were blank.

Finally controlled again, he opened his pre-dawn blue eyes and Dean's lips were a breath away. He just looked on weakly as they snared his own. The taste of soda and musk slid onto his tongue and he reached for more, feeling the familiar shape of his mouth, and drinking in the familiar scent of his body. They kissed with a strange sort of sweetness; one impossible to fake, or recreate. It was a moment they could only share when both were tired and weak - one with feeling and the other in body - without any sort of dirtying lust or pressure. For that moment, they were both happy, and both feeling a chasm of strength they had never experienced before. One that made them feel gripped; locked together forever.


	25. Temptation

Castiel spent all that weekend helping Dean recover, which meant helping him do everything – including walking around campus. To the cafeteria, to the lake to sit and chill out, to the bathroom… which was much more awkward than it sounds. He swore he saw nothing... even if he may have. But it was hard for Dean to be horny when he was so tired. He could hardly even dress on his own, which they both knew Cas was enjoying. He'd slip Dean's shirt over his head and the lean ripples of muscle on his chest would magnetize his hands and his eyes, and they would snog until they realized they were going to be late for dinner. Or they would get his jeans off and Cas could climb onto Dean's lap and tease him until time drew them apart. With no food in the room, meals were their only motivation to leave. They spent every morning draped across each other for hours, every day cuddling somewhere under a tree or behind the dorm building in the sun out of sight, and every evening in Dean's bed… putting color back in Dean's cheeks.

Soft making out brought fever back into Dean's body. He got stronger by the day, from being able to stand on his own just to cross the room and grab Cas, to finally able to pull Cas on top of him Sunday night. That had been the closest they'd gotten to second base. If Cas hadn't pointed out that Dean was supposed to avoid exertion, they might have damaged him beyond recognition.

They slept separately, for most of the time, until Cas slid into Dean's bed early in the morning and they lay together. Both knew this was their only time to indulge in each other's company; work and school were going to want them back, and they didn't want to let go. Long after they'd finished making out Sunday night, the two of them lay in bed together, hands all over each other, until it was too late to do so anymore. Then Cas slipped back to his messy cot and they both drifted to sleep ruefully.

All weekend, Dean's favorite thing to do was just watch Castiel move – cleaning up the room, drawing him, walking beside him - for at least a few minutes, with this absent smile on his face, before pulling him in and pushing aside his sketchbook or whatever he was holding, and hug him tightly and whisper, "I love you, God I love you," over and over in his ear, in his husky, low tone. Cas could do nothing but melt into him and blush and stammer affectionate protests and other incoherent things when he did this, still unable to vocalize his feelings the way he wanted to.

When Monday morning rolled around, Dean woke halfway back to his full strength. He managed to do everything on his own at half normal speed, and even got to class on time. Castiel hated to see him go but loved watching him leave. Time to get back to the real world, unfortunately. He grabbed his own backpack and set out into the cloudy morning, working feverishly through all his classes to get back to Dean at the end of the day.

Dean, on the other hand, day dreamed through most of his classes. Mostly about what it would be like if they ever got into it, or about Castiel playing nurse. He hardly realized the girls in the class fawning over him. Their 'I missed you!' and 'where were you?' and 'if there's any way I can help…' comments went right over his head. Eventually they gave up. After all, all he could think of was those flawless blue orbs filled with lust and a head of dark sex hair and a bare body spread out on his sheets, pining for him.

Cas had finished all the homework he'd missed last week by the time Dean got out of class. He was organizing his work schedule in his planner when the tired cowboy pushed through the door with a smile on his face. Looking up, Castiel rose, putting aside his things. "How your first day back go?"

Dean dropped his backpack and went right up to him, hands on his waist, toe to toe and body to body. "It went nice and quick," he pushed his nose against Castiel's throat and kissed it, breathing him in. His stubble pricked along his exposed skin.

The knees of his victim knocked together weakly. Castiel put his hands on Dean's chest and took a shaky breath, eyes sliding shut. The pleasure he got from that touch rushed the blood from his cheeks to his groin, and he couldn't break from Dean's iron grip before his boner pressed against his jeans. Dean chuckled into his ear and shifted his hips to put pressure on it, making Cas shudder and buck back, hungry for more. Cas's chin knocked gently against Dean's temple.

Voices down the hall made them both turn. Dean had left the door wide open. He pulled away with amazing reflexes to push it shut before the guys having an argument on their way to their dorm spotted them - or Cas's tent for that matter.

When it clicked into the locked position he turned back. His eyes seemed to rove, enjoying the exposed look Castiel had, his hands hovering by his waist. Those blue orbs weren't focused on his pants, though, they were hooded, locked onto green orbs, drawing Dean back. Obediently the other boy went to him. Taking him by the waist again he sank a kiss. He began to place several on Castiel's lips, one right after the other, and Cas took the handsome face in his hands and returned every one with a growing ferocity. Dean reached a nervous but eager hand between them and palmed Cas's boner, making him gasp. "Geez," Dean whispered against his mouth teasingly. "How long has it been since you got laid?" Cas went to answer snarkily, and Dean kneaded his dick through his jeans, turning his words into moans. The sound had Dean struggling to control his own horniness. Cas melted against him, pushing himself into Dean's touch with raunchy hips. "Damn that's hot." Dean said gruffly.

"Dean," Cas moaned softly, "I can't-" Another moan erupted from his lips as Dean rubbed him nice and hard, and he gave up and gave in, letting himself be pushed to his own bed this time. His neck arched. He sank onto his back on the comforter, heart thudding, blood pumping. His eyes dilated. It had been so long. He had longed for him, for this, since they met. This subtlety was something he clung to – this over-the-jeans formality. The temptation to pull himself out of his jeans was overwhelming, but he knew he was very likely to plunge into a panic attack, with memories of Martius shattering this perfect moment, if he did. Besides, baby steps. Dean wanted him, but scaring him off was still possible.

Dean lowered himself onto his side adjacent to him with a mischievous glint to his eyes. "Pop your belt," he ordered, and Castiel obeyed, nimble fingers unbuckling his belt. As it drew apart Dean pushed Castiel's legs apart and his hand ran the length of his amazing thigh, testing its mass with a squeeze here and there, and drawing up to his hardening boner with a slow rub. He palmed Cas's balls briefly to see the submission on his face before he began to rub methodically at his boner, working it over, making Cas buck and groan in hungry lust. His dick felt like concrete beneath Dean's touch. Leaning over him, Dean caught his lips and began to occupy those so he could feel the moans reverberate in Cas's mouth, hand working steadily. His name echoed out of Cas's throat so many times that he began to lose count and lose his control. His own boner shoved angrily at the zipped of his jeans and into Cas's side, who reached down and began to return the gesture.

Castiel groaned and pulled back from the kiss, panting. "Dean, I can't hold out," he said with a breathless roughness to his voice, jagged from pleasure.

"Can I finish you?" Dean asked seriously, his own voice shaking.

A beat of pause to catch his fleeting breath. "Please," Castiel moaned, unable to deny himself the rush of orgasm at his peak. Dean obliged, running eager hands along the boy's dick, jean-burn on his hands by the time Cas's back arched and his mouth opened in a silent cry. Pleasure flooded his body, rainbows of colored stars exploding behind his eyes as the inside of his underwear and jeans were christened. His dick throbbed with knee-knocking pleasure at finally having someone else get him off. His whole body felt the orgasm like a wrecking ball into his wall of stress, shattering it and breaking right through, draining him of all his tension and nerves. It was a freeing feeling – like being cut loose from bondage. Dean worked him until he was dry and quivering and when Cas came to, head lolling to see Dean gazing at him with love in his eyes, he knew then that he was it. He was the one.

He didn't look afraid, or uneasy, or even at odds in the smallest way. He looked romantic; happy, and in love. Boundlessly so. As if he'd just… well, given his boyfriend his first not-self-mandated orgasm in a year and a half. Dean pushed his hands under Cas's shirt and rubbed his chest and whispered sweet nothings in his ear. He kissed his forehead and his lips with a tenderness that made Cas want to break down all over again. Perfect. Dean was perfect. The one he'd been waiting for, while he was telling himself that dying was not the answer – that one day, someone would really want him, really need him... and really love him.

He lay there a long time beside Dean, letting the boy rub him with his boner, glad just to be able to feel this comfortable and this satisfied at the same time. They kissed lazily. Then the time came back into play. He was going to be late for his first day of work. After having pushed back last week's appointment, Cas was eager to impress his boss in order to secure his position. Dean pulled him up and turned away while he changed, the other male wiggling into clean underwear and jeans, and when he turned back he got arms wrapped around his neck and a sloppy wet kiss. "I love you," Cas said, drawn back a breath just to look into Dean's eyes. His determined expression was so solid, so unshakable, that Dean felt struck in the heart. "I'm sorry it took so long."

"Jesus, Cas," Dean whispered, gripping his waist with warm hands. "I don't think I can let you leave now." He'd been waiting for it, patiently, knowing Cas had trust issues with his lovers – hearing it now was like the cherry on top of the fudge Sunday.

"I _have_ to go," Castiel said sadly. "I'm sorry. I'll be back as soon as I can, I swear." They kissed deeply, passionately, and Cas rubbed against Dean. "Keep that. I'll be back for it." He said, referring to the rigid snake in his pants. Then he loaded up his pockets with everything he would need, tied on his sneakers, grabbed his trench coat, and went to the door. Dean stood in the middle of the room watching him with soft eyes. Castiel returned his gaze for a few beats before flashing him a shy smile. Then, opening the door, he vanished into the night.

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_Sorry it took so long for some smut. There will be plenty more. Please add reviews wherever you like._


	26. Suspicion

The door slid shut behind Castiel, and Dean sank onto his bed, looking down at his hands. He had enjoyed that way more than he'd thought he would. His heart was racing, his jeans were swollen, and all he could see was Castiel's eyes staring into his soul when he finally said he loved him. A shiver slid through him. His hands burned with the impression of Cas's jeans, and his body was still in a dull ache after being off his feet for an entire week. Even though he'd hardly put anything but arm strength into it he was still feeling the press of weariness as it beckoned him to the bed. He obliged it, and lay back on his bed and stared at the ceiling, letting his body calm down.

He'd never felt this much of anything for anybody but his family. Doing that to Castiel – for him – had been like overcoming an obstacle inside both of them. He couldn't explain it. He saw the change in Cas's eyes from when he begged for it and after he was cleaned up, and knew it had… saved him… somehow. He felt weird even thinking that let alone telling anybody else, but it was true. Giving Castiel a touch that was pure was what it had been. Dean was not trying to hurt him or take advantage or do anything for his own pleasure. Not that seeing Cas so horny wasn't pleasurable, but he wasn't doing it for himself. Dean had done it for Cas. And he'd do more for him when he could, that's what mattered. He truly loved him.

There was 'in love,' between flirting couples, and 'loving,' which was a bond. A connection. Something that withstood everything else. Even hurt. Even memories. It wasn't light and silly and sexy. It was dark. Strong. Unbreakable strength. Love is not having choice taken from you; it is waking up day after day, through bad and worse, and still choosing your lover over everything and everyone else.

That 'I love you,' Cas gave him had not been earned until now. Maybe it had been his wariness; he was afraid of being different, of loving a guy. But seeing Cas so vulnerable, so trusting… he'd known he had to step up and be a man about it. He had to accept it. And he did. Castiel bawled his eyes out over him when he was hurt, he was there every step of the way, he accepted him in every broken way he was. It was unfair to still hold fear of loving him in his heart when he knew it was unfounded. It had been time for Dean to get over himself and be there for him. He'd decided he was done being afraid, done being squeamish. He wanted Cas in every sense of the word and wasn't afraid of it anymore.

He didn't feel up to working on his homework. So, Dean slept, drifting in and out of a dreamless slumber that fed and soothed his mind. He'd never felt so light hearted and so heavy at the same time. Thoughts of Castiel lulled behind his eyelids, making his head spin and his heart ache. The crinkle of his eyes when he smiled. His eyes widening with innocence. The curve of his chest to his pelvis when he lay down, Adams apple bobbing nervously, lips parted in anticipation. Dean had no trouble keeping up his hard-on. He palmed it every now and then to keep it rigid, biting his lip as he pictured Cas: asleep naked in his bed, gently grinding the mattress in his sleep as he dreamt about fucking. He replayed it over and over in his head while he slipped in and out of sleep. It was a healing process.

Then a sharp knock came to the door. It roused Dean from his nice horny lull. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he sat up sluggishly and squinted at the floor. "Who's there?" He grunted curiously, getting up.

"The hall RA. Ricky." Came the dark reply.

Dude sounded mad. Dean tied a sweater over his boner and opened the door, squinting at the guy. He was an athletic type, with a skinny frame but a cocky air about him. He wasn't bad looking, with dirty blonde hair and dark eyes, but he was very serious and didn't look at all amused. "Anything I can help with?" Dean asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Yeah, actually," Ricky replied, and Dean found his heart blackening under the piercing stare the guy was giving him. "I got complaints an hour ago of hearing sounds of distress in your room. Is everything cordial here? Are you having roommate discrepancies?"

Cordial? Discrepancies? What was this guy, a damn prick? Dean shook his head, making a casually surprised expression as he tried to think about it. "No, I…" He trailed off. His face deadpanned. Cas. He'd made Cas moan pretty raunchy like an hour ago. Flashes of memories of Cas under his hands made his boner quiver, but he looked at Ricky in shock. From an outside stand point, two straight guys in a room with moaning meant someone was either dying or being killed. "Oh," was all he could manage to blurt, which did not help his situation.

Ricky pushed passed him into the room, obviously unhappy with that answer. Dean stepped back, still in shock, and watched as he nosed around the room for signs of a struggle. Besides messy beds there was nothing. "Care to explain, Winchester?" Ricky asked sharply, crossing his arms as he turned to him. "And I want the truth." The judgment in his eyes was almost physically manifesting. He was obviously trying to decipher if any violence had taken place – such as Cas being strangled to death – and that was plausible, with the sounds he'd been making. So Dean wasn't too put off by the guy. He was just being an RA. Even if it meant snooping and being quick to judge. At least he didn't notice the cum-stained clothes in the laundry basket.

What was he going to say? Sorry, me and my boyfriend were fucking? No way. Dean was terrified of the idea alone. Besides, it was embarrassing. His sex life was no one's business, especially when it was as obscure as Dean's. How did they even treat gay roommates here? Would they be separated? Reprimanded? As stupid as all that sounded, he wasn't willing to take the risk with the truth this time. He held out his hands. "Sorry, man – we were both having a rough day. I just got out of the hospital after a car crash left me a week in a half-coma, and Castiel was in the car with me when it happened, so we're both pretty stressed. We just an argument about something really stupid," he lied smoothly, "He's fine. We're fine. He left for work right afterwards, no hard feelings."

Ricky looked half relieved, half wary. The soft worry in his eyes reminded Dean that this kid was responsible for him, and a lot of other guys, and that he was probably a really nice guy when he wasn't accusing you of murder. He dropped his hard-ass stance, but remained tense. "I'm glad to hear you're both recovered after the accident. We heard it was pretty bad." He eyed Dean. "You didn't lay a hand on him?" He pressed. "My reports were pretty clear it was only him they heard in distress."

Dean reigned in perfect control over his face, keeping it even, while inside he was cracking up. _I put hands all over that boy, _he thought in a deep, gravely tone, his mind in the gutter. _And I'd do it again and again._ "I swear. I just had a bit of a thing. He just sat back and tried to chill me out." He shrugged, acting now. "It's just a pain in the ass, you know? I was out for a week. For a long time a piece of paper could knock me over. I'm still really tired all the time, I guess I just snapped."

His weary tone convinced Ricky, who stiff demeanor slid off like an itchy coat. His bony shoulders slouched casually, and his eyes even lost their sharp edge. He bobbed his head and stepped up to Dean and put a hand on his shoulder. He was pretty tall. "Don't worry, bro. You'll be running laps around him in no time. A few cheeseburgers and some sleep will do you wonders." He flashed Dean a sheepish smile, and for the first time he looked very young. "If you ever need anything, I'm at the end of the hall, right before the door, ok? Don't ever let it come down to blows between friends. You'll both get kicked out, and it'll just be a big mess." _Blows?_ _Big mess? Oh my God-_

Dean couldn't help it. He burst out laughing, bending over and holding his gut. Ricky drew his hand back in surprise. His dark eyes blinked. "Dude," Dean cackled, "that sounded so wrong!" He blurted. He didn't even care about the consequences anymore, that was too fucking funny.

To his immense relief, Ricky burst out laughing too. He rubbed his face. "Dammmit, Winchester," he laughed. "I was trying to be serious, too! Damn. Fuck you!" He joked, pushing his shoulder, and Dean just tried to compose his guffaws. _I would, but I'm taken!_ He thought with unbridled hilarity. Being 'gay' had way more comedic perks than he'd thought.

"Just take care of yourself, ok man?" Ricky chuckled as he walked out, and Dean just nodded, unable to form real words. When the door shut behind the RA, Dean dissolved into childish giggles, slapping his knee. If only he was in on the joke – man, if he had only known. Ricky would've seriously broke a rib laughing at himself.

* * *

_I'm trying to get into Dean's humor a bit more._

_I'm so sorry._


	27. Letting Go of Fear

_I'd like to thank my Audacious Americans, Beautious Brits, Cool Canadians, Neat New Zealanders, Bold Brazilians, Dapper Denmarks, Notorious Norwegians, Fresh French, Casual Chileans, Chill Chinese, Fine Finish, Hardy Hong Kongs, and Peaceful Pakistanians for all your lovely reads and reviews. Yes, that means you. Thank you. I'm happy smut can be enjoyed on an international level._

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There was little noise and a smothering darkness when Castiel slid back into the dorm room. The lamp post lights outside were blocked by the shut blinds. And the hall light was shut out by the door. He kicked off his shoes and breathed exhausted air into the room he could not see. The dim light of the corridor had readied his eyes for the blackness revealed to him, but just barely. On his desk, his alarm clock flashed 9:30pm. He'd worked a six hour shift, half of it introductions and the other half training. There were only three of them. Two other guys were there too, pretty normal guys about his age with medium builds and half-beards and bright eyes. Wade and John. Brothers. They all worked together really well; they made a good team on the floor. He was looking forward to this job. But man, was he bushed. A yawn wrenched his jaw open as he emptied his pockets onto the table and unbuckled his jeans, sinking into his chair to untie his sneakers.

A rustle from Dean's bed drew his hopes up into his throat. "How did it go?" Came the sleepy query from the shadowy figure in the bed. Dean had been napping on and off, letting his body tell him what to do, figuring that if he appeased it that he'd recover more quickly. He'd actually gotten his homework done after Ricky left. After that, it had just been lots of lounging.

"Well." Cas replied in his raspy monotone. "I'm looking forward to working there. But it's a good walk." He tossed his socks into the laundry basket and rose, hands on his knees, to crack the blinds. "It's too dark in here." Florescent light poured through the narrow slits and lit up his profile. He peeled off his shirt, throwing it aside, and turned to Dean. The outline of his shaped chest and stomach glowed smooth and taunt; the dangle of his belt in his unzipped jeans gave a loose, rugged look to his bent form. Light snatched the tips of his ruffled raven locks, as well as the glowing blue of his eyes and the edge of his straight nose. It glanced off his curling lips. It hugged his throat. It clung to his slender arms.

The light dimly pushed at Dean's casually draped self as well, and his stance indicated he was soaking in every detail. "Come here." His voice was clear now, gentle but wanting. Castiel's heart thudded. He padded over to Dean in bare feet, the carpet thin but cool beneath him. When he reached the side of his bed he watched as Dean propped himself up on one arm. His eye were full of light, still like a pond and swimming with something different. "Lose the jeans." His Adams apple bobbed briefly, and the lust there was becoming more and more obvious. Cas's thumbs hooked inside his waistband, the tendons in his hands flexing as he pushed with ease, his belt clattering against the floor. His jeans were down around his ankles. Dean reached out with his free arm and pushed his palms against Cas's hips, and his waist, kneading his flesh. "God." He breathed. "This is way hotter than it was in my head."

Dean's hand was wandering over his switchboard, pressing all the right buttons. It sucked Castiel in hopelessly. His weariness took a back seat to want and the insatiable desire to please. Although he had already gotten off, and was pretty satisfied, Cas really loved seeing Dean so flustered over him. He wanted to do something for him. After all, he had promised, and it did make him feel hot enough to possibly get off again, doing this. His eyelids lowered halfway. He licked his lips and leaned into Dean's touch, pushing his own hands over his flat stomach. Not only that, but he had waited a long time to be able to do this with Dean. He was not wasting a single moment of being wanted by him. "Lay back." He said pointedly.

Dean obeyed. His hand slipped away as he put his head back against his pillow, knees falling apart just barely; he was hesitant, still trying to conceal his hard-on by drilled instinct. Cas memorized that Dean in his head. The open Dean, waiting in patient, throbbing fever for hours for him to come back, and do this for him. He wanted to capture him like this. He'd draw him later, or paint him. This would be a priceless painting. Hands on either side of Dean's chest, he crawled on top of him, pushing his knees behind Dean's and forcing them apart seductively. The bulge in Dean's boxers grew. Hot hands found Cas's chest and torso, and Cas arched his back, leaning down to trail his lips along Dean's jawline. A soft moan of need danced off Dean's lips. Hot breath washed his neck.

Smiling, Castiel snared his mouth. He took a sample of each lip, rolled his hot tongue over Dean's, and felt his own boner rage back to life. It was amazing how much he could take. After being required to be constantly horny for his previous boyfriend, it was just normal now, but much more enjoyable when it was a choice and not a demand. Dean was so patient. Although, his hands were defying him. He drew his fingers through Cas's hair, taking a firm handle of it, the other pushing beneath the waistband of Cas's boxer briefs. Shifting his hips out of Dean's reach teasingly, Cas enjoyed the rush of blood to his pelvis. It wasn't him the focus would be on tonight. He waited until his dick felt like concrete again before he dipped his waist and slowly rubbed his bulge against Dean's. The response he got was gently bucking hips, and a sharp intake of breath. The hand tightened in Castiel's hair.

"Close your eyes," Cas murmured against his lips, and slid away from him. He let Dean keep the grip on his hair as he worked his way down, leaving a trail of kisses on his body, which was tense with nerves. First his neck. Bite, suck. Bite, suck. Then his collar. Then his chest. Dean's moans of protest fell on deaf ears. "Relax," he breathed against Dean's navel. "Focus on the feelings. Don't let the 'might happen's gets in the way." He ran his hands over Dean's stomach. "I've got you." He added soothingly, to which he felt Dean heave with a deep breath, and as he let it out, his body began to relax bit by bit. All except his lower half, which was begging to be touched. Cas obliged. He lifted the waistband of Dean's boxers up and over his hard on, which was throbbing against his stomach, and Dean lifted his hips enough for Cas to work them further. They rested in a place halfway down his hips where there was no pressure on his balls when Cas finally got a good look at Dean's boner. He'd seen it in his underwear plenty of times, walking around the room casually, and in the past weekend they'd spent close together. But up close and personal was a lot different. He licked his lips nervously. There was a lot to work with.

Dean held his breath for a few moments, trying to relax, and predict what Cas was about to do. What he was thinking made him nervous. Cas's hands were roving pretty carelessly along the bare skin of his hips, so it was definite, but he had never pictured himself like this. Getting head from a guy. It sent waves of want through his groin, making him self-conscious about the twitch of his cock under prying eyes. But when he felt a hand leave his side, it wrapped around his hilt, he gulped. He strained under the weight of patience. Slowly, slowly, he felt a tongue covering every inch of him; its hot, wet touch gave Dean warm shivers. Head was head no matter what gender, but skilled head was eight times the experience. And Cas had some skill. He didn't get rough, or rush, he just lay there and took his time, which was a crashing relief to his victim. Although unfounded, fear made Dean's heart pound painfully in his ears and his head swim. The anxiety in Dean's heart was replaced very slowly by the mounting pleasure he was getting. More and more it came, letting himself sink into the feeling of being worked on after hours of being hard, and soon, pleasure was all he felt.

The motion of Cas's mouth was hypnotic. Dean let go of an involuntary gruff moan, wanting more, and was obliged at once. The pumping grew stronger, tighter. Over and over. Dean gripped Cas's hair as it slid back and forth and his other hand pressed flush with the mattress. "Oh, God," Dean moaned, and got a quick squeeze as a reward. It was building up, tighter and tighter, making him gasp and grunt; Castiel felt it as well, but did not cease, which scared Dean slightly. What if he didn't like it, what would happen? He'd never had a girl spit it out save for once or twice, and he'd been pretty busy in his lifetime with women, but- "Oh, God, Cas!" He moaned loudly, and wasn't coherent enough to regret its volume as a wave of pleasure began to climb up his shaft. His next moans were completely incoherent as he reached climax. Colors and light exploded behind his eyes. His entire body worshipped the orgasm. His knees buckled, his back arched, and his hand went slack on the back of Cas's head in ecstasy. Castiel took it without protest or squeamish flinch. He sucked him dry and licked him clean, and Dean's limbs collapsed into a dizzy heap.

He blinked, and Cas was there, pressing a hard kiss to his cheek. "You're so well behaved," he whispered into his ear, making him weak. "Want a taste?" Dean turned his head into the damp lips and sank his tongue between them. They macked and wrapped each other in arms and legs for at least twenty minutes before both were dead asleep.


	28. Lovers

Morning came too quickly. Heavy with sleep and in a very comfortable place where he planned on not going to class, Dean pushed his face into the pillow, and got a soft grunt in reply. Wait. This pillow was not very fluffy. Or cool. Weren't pillows usually cool? Didn't they not move? His head was moving up and down. He rolled his face onto one cheek, pushed against what he once claimed was his pillow, and squinted out at the world. A soft tan canvas met his eyes and it seemed to stretch all the way down to a boxer briefs waistband. Not his pillow, but a pillow, maybe…? It definitely wasn't a moose he was sleeping on. His mind was stumped for long enough for his pillow to yawn and groan.

"That's my stomach," came the vibrating voice in Dean's ear, and then it clicked. Oooooh. Cas pillow. Dean shrugged and shut his eyes again. No reason to fix something that wasn't broken. "Dean, you're very comfy but I need to both breathe and go to class." Unhappily, Dean pursed his lips and did nothing. He didn't want to move. Nope. Not happening.

A gentle sigh reverberated his skull and everything began to shift and move. Alarmed, he turned over, looking up to see his pillow had sat up. The back of his head rested against a nice thigh. Blinking up at Castiel his guilty pillow moocher made a face. "Are you sure?" He mumbled. A hand ran through his hair and a chuckle attached to a large smile was his first reply.

"Yes," was the second reply. "I'm sorry. I have a test." Reaching up, Dean clumsily wrapped his arms around Cas's neck and did a tug motion that pulled him down sideways alongside him. Dean rested his head on Cas's hip and cuddled him close in strong arms and Cas sighed into the warm shoulder he was trapped in. "I love you, Dean." That was an eye-opener. Dean squinted over at Cas, who was laughing gently to himself. "I had a feeling that might work. Come on, tough guy. You've got class too." A kiss to his forehead made Dean sigh dramatically. He let Cas go, and his pillow sat up, warm hands coaxing him up as well.

"Fine, fine," he added to the theatrical flail he did as he stretched. "Work work work makes Cassy… tired." He yawned and looked up. Cas was watching him with quiet blue eyes. "Everything ok?" He said, and cleared his throat of morning grog. Cas's dark hair was sticking up in every direction and the sleep-heavy eyes were bright with energy.

"Entirely." Castiel replied, and climbed out of the bed, stretching his arms up high. A grunt escaped his lips. "I'm just content."

There was a plan of action that Dean knew was flawless. He must carry it out. Getting onto his knees, Dean admired Cas's form with a nod before wrapping his arms around the other male's torso. His hands drank in the curve of his chest and pulled in the warmth of his body until they were drawn together. He pressed his face into the crook of his neck, and Cas sank back, sitting on the end of the mattress with a defeated sigh. Both their eyes shut. "I don't want to leave." Cas said softly.

"Then don't," came the gentle reply. To his surprise Castiel turned in his arms and pushed him back onto the bed, lying on top of him as if seeking out his heat. Dean lifted his head as warm arms wrapped around his neck and a hard kiss pressed his ear. Smiling triumphantly, he wrapped his arms around his new blanket in a bear hug. His happy high settled them both. The stretch and rise and fall of their bodies together became a rhythm.

As Castiel was typing out a sick note on his e-mail to send to his professor, Dean was gathering his things together for a shower. He rustled with his clothes and a bottle of shampoo and a bar of soap. "Sorry I made you miss your test. But we can still make our other classes." He apologized, well aware the boy loved his grades.

"He'll let me make it up. Besides," Cas turned in his chair, looking groggy but happy. "How often can we do that?"

"As often as you want." Dean replied, coming over and pushing his hand down the back collar of the shirt Cas had pulled on, rubbing between his shoulder blades as he planted a kiss on his lips. "I'll be in the shower. If you'll be late waiting for me, don't worry about it." He went to go and his wrist was caught.

"You shouldn't go alone." Came the serious reply, making him blink. "I'll come with you." Dean's heart leaped and staggered and took off again like a race horse. A public shower with Castiel? Another wet dream. The caution in Cas's eyes made him smile.

"Then you better get a change of clothes, 'cause yours ain't lastin' long," Dean joked. Breaking into a shy smile, Cas got up and grabbed his things, the door shutting firmly behind them.

Dean pressed Cas against the shower wall, kissing him feverishly, and Cas wrapped a strong hand around the back of his neck and another one on his ass to pull him closer. Their bodies ground together, soft moans piercing the sound of rushing water. The stream of tap beside them was all but ignored, and the stall was flooded with clouds of hot white steam. Hardly any of the guys on their floor took late showers and were probably in class, so it was just the two of them in the bathroom, in a stall with a locking door. Thank goodness. The rush of possibly getting caught made them both harder, on top of morning wood and last night's fond memories, brought on lot of experimenting.

Dean wrapped his hand around Cas's bare hard-on and Cas tensed vividly against his hand. Acute pleasure shot through him in waves. Murmurs of sweet nothings in his ear and rough kisses brought them both into their own little world. Their soaked forms glistened with the steam of the shower. After lots of rocking and moaning, Cas came all over Dean's hand, which he pushed into the shower stream to wash off once he was pumped dry. He wrapped his arms around Cas when his knees buckled with pleasure and held him up. A considerably nice hickie was left on his collar, right below his shirt line, while he recovered – but when he got his feet under him again he grabbed Dean and switched places with him, pushing him against the wall. The wild lust in his green eyes mixed with shock.

The confusion on Dean's face made it much sweeter. Castiel grinned mischievously and took Dean's morning wood, fingers playing at the short curly hairs at the base, and pressed it between their slick bellies. His whole body pushed with a seductive rock as he began a steady grind. A fluster of powerful, surprised moans were evoked because of this, and Dean returned the motion eagerly as Cas sank his tongue into his hot waiting mouth. His hands grabbed Cas's waist eagerly and Cas grabbed his wrists just as much so. They hammered Dean's dick until he finished with a final jerk, soaking their chests with finality. His gasps of orgasm were loud and full. Cas drank them in, smiling onto his lips, and drew back only once he was sated, both of them breathless. The reward he got for getting them both finished was thorough and warm and strong with affection.

Scrambling to get clean after that, they shared the stream as hasty hands scrubbed their hair and bodies with a clean fresh soap, a smell that covered up their morning ecstasy. Their laughter and teasing touches were distracting but did not hinder their rush. Once satisfied with their lack of sex smell, they swapped kisses and grins. Then they dried and dressed with an impressive speed and ran to the room for their backpacks and shoes before bolting off to class.


	29. Busted

The next few days passed in a blur. Castiel and Dean were lost in a lull of teenager-like lust, rolling around in Dean's bed every moment they weren't doing something they had to do. Like homework or class or meals. They even showered together now. If there was anything else going on, they missed it. Hands and panting and soft moans filled their hours. Grasping touches and hickies and swapping clothes. Even when Cas would wear the new clothes his mother bought him to work, he got dressed an hour before he had to leave - in nice button ups and new jeans and even crisp undershirts - because Dean always liked to peel them off and make him beg for his hand before he left. Dean told Cas about the noise complaints, so they tried to be quiet, but sometimes it took a tongue down his throat to stifle Cas's cries of orgasm.

Tonight Dean was trying his hand at a blowjob. It took him a lot of pacing to get the idea to stick, and when he felt he was ready he just grabbed his nicely dressed roomie as he was tying his shoes. He pushed Cas's fly down and pulled his hard on out of his boxer briefs and got on his knees, and went at it without thinking, which was the best way to break yourself in. Especially if it was your first time. Cas had no complaints, not having felt a tongue around him for ages. He writhed and groaned and bit his lip but even unexperienced, Dean was amazing. His hesitation made the suspense even better. But it also helped Cas remember that Dean was unsure of himself. When he began to tighten with pre-come shudders he worked his fingers through Dean's hair.

"Dean," he said shakily. "If you don't want to finish this, I will have zero complaints." A mouthful of white stuff was a pretty big leap for a former straight guy. They'd only been going at it for a few days now, after all - it could be too soon. "Either way, that was amazing."

The tense trembling of Dean's lips ceased as he drew back, breathless as he looked up at him. "You sure?" He said softly, hands on Cas's knees. The anxiety was in clear turmoil behind his eyes.

He'd been right, of course. Smiling with laughter in his eyes and nodding, Cas drew Dean up to his level and kissed him passionately. "Baby steps," he whispered against his lips. "It's ok to be nervous. I was." Guilty silent, Dean made out with Cas, helping him jack off before he cleaned up and zipped up. As Cas ran a comb through his dark hair he glanced at Dean in the mirror on the back of their door. "I'll be back normal time." He tossed aside his comb and went to Dean, who was sitting on the edge of his bed. He took his face in large, gentle hands and kissed him sweetly. "Don't look so guilty, Dean. You did fine. It's fine."

Dean just nodded, flashing him a smile, and Cas sighed affectionately at his lack of conviction. Then he took his things and left for work, hoping Dean wouldn't beat himself up too much over it.

Of course, though, he did. He beat himself up while he did slap-shod homework. He beat himself up while he watched a movie on their small box TV, and ate pretzels. He even beat himself up while he worked himself over, waiting for Cas to get back and take care of him. He should have just done it, gotten it over with. Now he was thinking about it. But what if it was nasty? What if he choked on it? What if he barfed? He didn't want it to be awkward, and nasty. Sex was awkward and nasty, but it wasn't like that. He didn't want to make Cas feel bad or do something humiliating. He should've just tried it. After all, what if he liked it? He rolled over in bed when the movie was over and continued to brood. When Castiel came back and did that thing where he unbuckled his belt and jeans and sat down to untie his shoes – a personal Dean favorite habit - and he shed his clothes except his briefs, and he climbed into bed with Dean that night, Dean was still beating himself up.

"Stop torturing yourself," Cas scolded as he wrapped his hand around Dean and teased him with a few gentle jerks.

"I'm not," Dean protested, kissing Cas's throat and collar feverishly. He didn't want Cas to worry about him; he had enough to think about, and besides, he was happy.

But he was very bad at hiding that he was troubled, and Cas sat up, shifting to put a hot hand on Dean's belly. He looked down at him with stern blue eyes. "Dean." He said sternly. "Look at me and tell me that you aren't torturing yourself over the blowjob thing."

The lack of sexual ice-breaking between them caused a nervous gap in Dean's thoughts. Without breaking his stare, Dean just swallowed, and Cas sighed.

"I know you were going nuts over it," Cas said quietly, "but you won't know if you like it until you're ready to try. Whenever you are ready, I'll be here. But if you're not ready yet, well, then it's all right. I understand. It's so early – please, you just started, we just started, don't think you're the first who has felt like this. When I first was made to try, I had panic attacks over it. Only difference is…" He leaned over and touched his cheek to Dean's forehead. "I will never force you to do anything. I don't want to ruin any of the pleasure you get out of this. If I have to wait to white-wash your tonsils, or… even if I never do. That's something I'm all right with."

Dean nodded silently. Castiel gave him a look, and he sighed. "All right," he replied wearily. "Thanks. I'm sorry, I just… I owe you everything. You settled everything in my life, you tied it all together. I love you. I just want to be able to…" He cleared his throat. "Finish."

A kiss to his temple made Dean smirk. Cas chuckled. "You tie me together. This is enough. You are enough." He clung to him, pressing his body to Dean's. "Besides, you've got nice, strong hands."

Chuckling, Dean rolled over with him, and they did a sort of scramble to get the other off first. Cas could manipulate his hips out of reach willingly because he'd already gotten off, but Dean wanted it more; his body craved those firm fingers around him. Needless to say Cas won. Well, Dean won, but the contest ended with Cas as victorious. He beat off Dean's thick hard-on, and for once it was Dean's moans that got alarmingly loud. Maybe it was the rub of Cas's fingers. Maybe it was his relief. Maybe it was being able to dissolve his stress. Either way, Cas was surprised as well as severely turned on, and Dean groaned over it once it was over, head spinning with endorphins. "I was damn loud." He whispered, and Cas nodded, chuckling nervously.

"I liked it. It was… attractive." The breathless post-climax look on Dean's face mingled with nervous tension was so hot. Cas kissed him gently and they exchanged a 'we're in trouble' look and got up, quickly cleaning up. Once all traces of their actions were gone they rubbed germ ex on their hands to banish the smell. Not as soon as Cas had pulled on a shirt did a knock come at their door.

"It's Ricky," came the muffled voice from behind the knock.

Cas and Dean exchanged nervous looks. Then they parted. Cas sank into his desk chair, his hard-on fading, pushing down his sex hair, and Dean opened up the door. He stood back to see Ricky in gym shorts and a wrinkled t-shirt, as if he was about to go to bed when he'd gotten the call. He looked tense. As if he had figured out Dean was lying to him. Stepping inside, he shot Dean a look and glanced over to see Cas blinking at him nervously.

"Castiel Novak, right?" Ricky questioned, and Cas nodded.

"Yes. You're our RA, Ricky, right?" Castiel looked and sounded disheveled, as if he'd just woken up. Good acting.

Dean had almost forgotten they hadn't met yet. He stood back with his arms crossed and glanced between them. "What's going on, Ricky?" He pressed. "Who is so interested in our dorm life?"

Sighing, Ricky rubbed his face. Obviously seeing both of them fine and calm had made him feel like he was prank called. "Some kid thinks you two are killing each other. Or something." He waved his hand as if homosexual tendencies were implied, but he didn't believe it was a problem either way. "You both sound fine, but you look guilty. So. What are you doing that disturbs the peace, guys?" He smiled sheepishly. "I won't judge. Unless it damages your health, it's none of my business. Just tell me so I can write this guy off when he calls again."

Tell him they were having sex? Castiel looked at Dean with eyes round with surprise and Dean's terror matched his at that moment. He worked his jaw and nothing came out, so he cleared his throat and looked at Ricky, embarrassed beyond belief. "We would rather not talk about it." He managed. When Ricky frowned, he held up his hands. "We're not drinking, drugging, or killing prostitutes, or anything like that. It's just… it's personal."

Ricky sighed. He took a moment to think, rubbing the light-washed beard on his chin, and looked at both of them. It was clear he was debating between them being gay or them being serial killers. When they both looked guiltily at him, the light bulb flickered on. Both of the boys saw it. Ricky nodded, awkwardly, hands on his hips. "All right. Ok. I get it, guys." He took a deep breath. "Consider things resolved, all right? If anyone gives you any more trouble, bring them to me. I'll handle it," he said sincerely, to both of their shock. "We're not here to tell you how to live your lives, we're here to protect you. There's nothing against that sort of thing here. I trust the two of you to keep this however you want to. Just know the consequences of letting these guys know if you do. Some of them aren't as… open." He went to the door again and nodded back at them. "If anything gets bad you know I'll back you up. But I hope it doesn't. Take care of yourselves." Then he was gone.

Cas looked at Dean and Dean looked at Cas as the door shut behind him. They sat together on Dean's bed in silence for a long time, their shock morphing, and evolving into a warm sort of hope and admiration. That small kindness meant the world to them. And yet there was guilt – guilt that in that situation, if it had been them, they wouldn't have been nearly as kind, or understanding… or sympathetic. There was truly faith left in humanity after all.


	30. Bombarded

_"…I'm so scared, but I don't show it - I can't figure it out, it's bringing me down, I know I've got to let it go… and just enjoy The Show…"_ The credits for _Money Ball_ rolled and Dean was in the back of the class with his arms crossed, entirely paying attention for once in Economics. His professor began a lecture on the significance of statistics and its predictions in the economy and he tuned out. So far, no one else in their building, or in their classes, had made any strange comments about him and Castiel. They spent every waking moment together. He hadn't laid a single girl here – even though he could. He was sure Cas could too if he wanted. He's a looker. But they hooked fingers sometimes, if they walked to class or to the café together. They didn't do PDA. No kissing, or cuddling, or anything gushy in public. They figured that as long as they didn't make anyone uncomfortable that their public secret would be kept safe. As long as no one on their floor found out they were sleeping feet from a gay couple.

It made Dean clench his jaw and look at the backs of all the heads of the guys in the class. There was Garth, who was a ditz in clothes that hung on his scrawny shoulders, who roomed with Benny, a thick rugby jock with blue eyes who never looked amused at anything he said. They were buddies, though. Dean could tell by the way Benny let Garth do anything stupid in class; smacking paper airplanes out of his hands, scolding him. They lived a few doors down. Would they be cruel to him? Dismiss them both? Dean looked away. Him and Benny were pals, too. They complained about homework together and sometimes had lunch in the café when there was no one else to talk to. They were friends. What would he think? Garth, he was a push over. He'd probably make some awkward jokes all the time, but he'd be all right with it eventually.

The professor released them. Dean shuffled to his next class, with his favorite professor, Bobby. His last name was something like Singer. But no one ever called him that, he didn't like it. He was the history teacher – in Dean's favorite class. Ancient history. As he sat in his usual seat up front, in the center, he leaned back and watched Bobby shuffle with papers and grumble about computers. What would he think? What did he think, if he even knew? Was he grossed out? Disappointed? Or was he just in shock? Dean rubbed his face. He was gonna go nuts thinking about this all the time. Half these people probably had no idea he was in the process of banging another dude. And what did it matter anyway? Well... it did. It mattered to Dean. It mattered how they would be treated when – if – it became public.

Zoning in on the History lecture, Dean took notes and examined them and organized everything in his notebook before the class was over. When everyone else was shuffling out, he zipped up his backpack and went over to Bobby, hovering by his desk. "Sir?" He spoke up, and the man looked up curiously.

"Dean. Good to see you enjoying class again. No one did their homework without you to compete with," he joked, and Dean grinned.

"It's good to be back. Is there anything else you need me to do, to catch up?"

"Well, not that I can think of. A paper on what you missed might help you recover from those pop quizzes I made void. Three pages, works cited." Bobby paused, looking up at him. "You've got a lot of color in you lately, son, and you looked a little… anxious earlier. I'm glad you're better so quick, but… Everything going all right?"_ Your roomie keeping you on your toes? _Dean nodded tightly.

"Yeah, I uh… I'm just chasing my tail, getting back in the swing. I feel better. I just…" He bit his tongue. Did he almost…? The thought of coming out to his favorite gruff professor was humiliating. It hurt him physically, like a blow to the chest. This wasn't what he should be doing. He needed to just live with it. Not let what anybody thought kill him inside. Here he was, a man, in front of this older man he admired, and he was ashamed of what he was. Who he loved – who he wanted.

He saw those blue eyes in his head and the worry in his eyes when he said his name, and the love in his hands when he touched him, and the scorn they faced if they came out publically. The hatred in the eyes of the other guys. The judgment he himself was guilty of. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes so quickly that it was astonishing. He shook his head, but when he glanced up Bobby looked shocked. "It's nothing. I better get going, I have another class." Dean faked a smile and made for the door, vanishing before Bobby could protest.

He'd never gotten like this before. His head was collapsing, and his heart was wrenched in two. It was overwhelming. He ran into the library, which was between his two classes, and locked himself in the bathroom. His backpack fell to the floor. Leaning on the sink, he wept roughly, rubbing at his cheeks to push the tears away, as if he could push off this feeling – this shame. His shoulders were so heavy and his knees were so weak. It was like an attack.

He was ashamed to be ashamed. There was nothing wrong with him. Nothing wrong with why he loved Castiel. Why did it feel wrong? Why did he hate himself? Why was it so… strange, taboo? It was just love. He was just in love. So what if Cas wasn't a girl? He couldn't help it. Why couldn't he just tell someone? He was too scared. Too scared no one would understand. His knees buckled. He sank to his knees, folding his arms on the bathroom counter and rubbed at his cheeks and groaned with pain that was not physical. His sorrow echoed satisfyingly against the cold white walls and through the stalls and along the pipework. It slid under the door and pressed at the ears of nosy eaves droppers. He imagined their alarm, their disgust, and it fueled his tears. He was sure everyone could hear his shame. And it made him feel so much worse. Worse enough to help him let it out.

When it was over, he sat on the floor against the wall, a roll of paper towels in his lap. He scrubbed his nose and cheeks and put his head back, trying to calm down. His body was exhausted with crying. He wasn't going to art class. He was going back to the room and going to bed. This was all too much. This attack of shame had hit him like a train out of the fog. You knew it was coming, you could hear it and feel it deep down inside your bones, but you never knew when it was going to strike. All you saw were blinding headlights – and all you could do was go on, trying not to get hit, until it was too late.

Eventually he got the strength to rise. He put aside the half empty roll of paper towels. He grabbed his backpack and looked at himself in the mirror. His eyes and nose were red and puffy. His face was splotched, as if he were sick, and he felt three times as bad as he looked. Rubbing his nose one last time, he pushed out of the bathroom and went down a back staircase, and crossed the empty street to his sidewalk and stalked alongside the lake until he was back in his building, back in his room. He threw his things aside and collapsed onto the bed and buried his face in the pillow and wallowed in the deep chasm of his heartache.

Castiel came back from printing something in the library to find Dean, boots and all, curled up in bed at lunchtime. He put his things away and went to him at once. He rubbed his shoulder and murmured gentle worries into his ear, and Dean turned to face him. He still looked rough, like he'd torn himself up crying, and it made Cas white as a ghost. "Dean," he whispered in alarm. "Dean, what…?"

"Not right now," Dean said shakily, reaching out heavy arms. "I just… I love you. Please, come here." At once, Cas gathered Dean in his arms, tightly, iron-like, and rocked him steadily with his nose in his shoulder. "I love you," Dean repeated, in a heart-crushing whisper. "I love you so much." He touched every vulnerable place on Castiel's lanky body and gave him salty kisses on his full lips, heavy with shed tears, and ran his hands through his thick dark hair. He kissed every bit of exposed skin he could find, and let his hands map out the solid form clinging to him. His belly and his chest and his arms and God, was he sexy. Every inch of him. He drank it in, hands gripping and pressing with desperate need, which began to scare Cas. But Dean was gentle still. He lifted Cas's shirt and kissed his stomach, and the center of his chest. He then promptly lowered his shirt back down and buried himself in Cas's chest and fell asleep, completely exhausted. A very pale Castiel stroked his dusty brown hair and felt the rise and fall of his uneven breath - and the knot in his chest got tighter and tighter with every tick of Dean's watch. His eyes bore holes in the wall. His beautiful, perfect, broken lover slept soundly in protective arms.

* * *

_It's the most amazing thing to write Dean prostrate. I would love to hear your thoughts on the matter, especially story suggestions. I plan for this to be a very long fic and I'd love help_


	31. Shortcomings and Their Toll

When Dean woke, he had completely forgotten what happened. His entire body had needed to rest. Now, waking slowly, he felt much better, though whether he knew it or not was debatable. He took a deep breath and groaned softly, his forehead still in Cas's chest, strong arms around his shoulders. They were still, though. Cas's breath came in even rise and falls. Was he asleep? When Dean shifted to look, his pillow moved. Not asleep. Just stone still. Shifting to lean back, Castiel looked down at him with cloudy eyes, his nostrils flaring with worry. He took Dean's face in his hands and his worry was palpable.

It all rushed back. The shame, the break down. It was as if Dean had gotten shot through the heart with an arrow, and if he took it out he'd bleed to death – but if he didn't, he would die slowly. He looked up into Cas's face and tears pricked his bright, hurt green eyes, brown flecks swimming in sorrow. Castiel didn't push him. He didn't even ask. He just waited. Dean managed to swallow his tears, his breath becoming labored again. He tried to work his jaw, form words around the stake in his chest, and his lungs shuddered with the effort.

"I don't know where this came from," Dean managed, "I was just… I went through my classes thinking about it, you know? Thinking about how everything seems perfect to us. How amazing it is to have you, and to be here for you. And how everyone thinks about it. How _wrong_ we're told it is, just to be… what we want, with who we want." Castiel's eyes were like round cups made of stone, and every word that came stumbling out of Dean's mouth was like a drop of acid that melted his worry into sadness, his eyes swimming like a churning sea with bitterness and a deep-reaching anguish. "We're happy, aren't we? We're fixing each other. We're healing. Why does that have to be judged? Why is it different?" He looked away and put his forehead back against Cas's chest, sighing with frustration. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you worry about me. I… I just-"

"It's all right," Cas interrupted. "It's ok, Dean. You were hysterical."

"Hysterical." Dean shut his eyes as soothing hands slid through his hair. "That was a crappy feeling. Like my body was a rocket and someone put Red bull in my fuel tank." He kneaded Cas's hip, rhythmically. "I must've scared you shitless. I'm so sorry, Castiel. I really am." He looked back up, and Cas nodded, his throat tightening. The touching, the grabbing; he'd been roughly forward. Just like… Dean's heart sank. "Cas." He reached up and put his arms around Cas, holding him close. "Dammit." He whispered. "Did I hurt you, are you ok?"

Castiel shook his head, swallowing hard. Martius. Martius grabbing him, holding him down. Yanking at his clothes. Grinning into a kiss as he pushed bruises into his skin with his fingerprints. "It's fine. I'm fine. I'm just glad you're all right. You… you just scared me is all, you couldn't hurt me unless you… really meant it." He touched his face to Dean's neck and drew back, looking into his eyes. "We need to talk to someone. You need to talk to someone, before this happens to you again."

"I will never mean to." Dean pressed. "Cas, I…" He trailed off, looking into his eyes. "Cas, hit me. Do something to me. Punch me in the face if I ever even try. I mean it. A good shiner, don't hold back, I can take it."

Cas paled considerably. "Dean I can't." He forced.

"I know. Jesus, I know…" Dean groaned and kissed Cass's forehead, hard. How could he ask that? "I will. I'll go see someone. I'll do anything; but I won't do that to you. I won't make you." He said adamantly, looking at him for forgiveness, approval, anything.

Big blue eyes devoid of judgment drank him in. "You kept saying that you loved me." His fingertips smoothed the taunt line of Dean's jaw_._ "I wasn't scared of you. I was scared _for_ you." His acceptance crashed a wave of relief over Dean. Dean kissed him, and kissed him, and smothered him in 'I love you's. Cas sank into his warmth, and let him soothe away the fear he had caused. They didn't go to dinner that night. They stayed in the room and drifted in and out of sleep and clung to each other, waking every now and then to kiss another part of the other. Muffled moans and soft grinding took their minds off their pain. Then in a tangle of arms and legs, they were both dead asleep.

Dean went through the next day in a dream-like trance. His exhaustion had hollowed out his mind. Everything outside was cloudy and dull, only adding to his bone-weary mood. The sidewalks were empty. So was the café at breakfast. Everyone thought it was a better idea to sleep in, when Dean could hardly stand to miss another class. No one went to his first seminar; it was five of them sitting through a lecture and two were asleep through it. He had a gap between his next classes, though, and he intended to use it for Bobby's paper and some other homework.

Cas had pressed him this morning to pick someone to talk to, and fast, because they both knew without mentioning it aloud that it wasn't going to be long before Dean had another breakdown. For some reason all this was just overwhelming him. Maybe it was his problem with his dad missing – he modeled everything in himself after his dad. Fighting, driving, cars, hunting, chicks… He didn't even think himself capable of individual thought until he'd met Cas. Now that he was fending for himself it was making his head work in ways it never had to before. Being gay, going to school, making friends, a car crash? Diverging from his dad's old-fashioned, kick-ass guy routine was messing with him, and he needed to know why.

The last thing he wanted to do was talk to one of his friends, or teachers, because they wouldn't be… equipped to handle his level of emotional distress. He wouldn't put that on anyone. A counselor was his other option, and telling a stranger he was gay was going to be even more difficult. That fear haunted him every step he took.

He had homework to do, so he went to the library and sank down at one of a pair of windows computers. The rest were all macs, and he could hardly use a windows computer, so he figured it best to leave those to the other students with similar ideas as his.

He dropped his backpack and logged in and brought up his student mail. Checking it for homework assignments, he saw one e-mail from Bobby marked urgent. That was strange. Bobby had already given him a paper to write. It had been sent yesterday, and didn't look very long. He clicked on it. The page popped open mostly white, with a small band of black lettering.

'Dean Winchester,

There's something going on with you lately and it ain't good. I want to see you in my office tomorrow right after classes. And don't stand me up. I want an explanation, and it better be a damn good one.

Try the truth. That's always the least painful way to approach life; cutting the crap and all.

Bobby'

Dean stared at the short message with a blank face. Bobby? Bobby wanted him to talk? Well after yesterday it was no surprise. He'd bolted from his office like his damn shoes were on fire. He sat back, his heart churning. He had to go. Bobby was going to get it out of him one way or another, best let it be the good way. He had to think of how to explain it. As gently as possible, and with a lot of subtlety. And he wouldn't mention that it was with his roommate. Not yet. With a hand rubbing over his face Dean went back to his homework, the nagging fear of being exposed publically with Cas eating away at him. His fingers dragged over the keyboard as he typed up his paper for Bobby, and finished his other homework, his eyes burning as he stared at the screen. When he was done he printed it all off and shoved it in a folder and went upstairs to his next class.


	32. Challenge

A classroom among several others was put into the upstairs library. Picking his room, Dean sank into his chair, alone at the end of the third row against the opposite wall. He took out his books. English wasn't so bad. It was just tons of reading. His professor bustled in, her short, graying blonde hair framing a wrinkling face as she pushed thick-rimmed glasses up her nose and pushed her things onto the desk. She was tall and graceful but always dressed like a southern farm girl from the eighties. They shared classrooms here, so nothing in this room was hers, but she was given several classrooms for several classes she had to teach, so she was used to it.

"Put away your textbooks," she said, waving at the class of ten or less who had chosen to show up. "We're going to study Sappho's poems today and there are none in your book." She hastily brought up the computer and flipped a switch. A projector screen descended from the ceiling slowly as she brought up the projector, scrolling through pages and pages of poems. "Ah! Here. 'he appears to me, that one, equal to the gods.'" Launching into the ancient Greek and classical period, she made it very clear that to be a poet as a woman was quite a feat. Dean was fine just taking notes until his professor brought up another point. "Back in ancient Greece, it was common for men to be gay," she explained, polishing her glasses on the sleeve of her old denim dress. "The Olympics and most sports were performed naked, so for obvious reasons that was accepted. No women were allowed to attend, and if women were gay, it was scorned specifically because it would limit child bearing – Sappho herself had chosen to be a lesbian. That's where the name 'lesbian' originates. She came from the island of Lesbos and there are many stories and paintings of her sex with other women. Not much of her work survived – we assume it was either never published so the manuscripts were lost or someone ordered them destroyed because of its threat to Greek society. But she was full of love for women and men alike. She even had a daughter that she loved very dearly, so she even had relations with a husband before she was exiled to Sicily for her choices and poetry.

"She was prosecuted, but men would be allowed to have male lovers while they were married, and bear children with a woman simply to further his name. They were open and quite well off with themselves around this time." Her eyes alighted right over Dean, and he swallowed, clutching his pencil until his knuckles were white. She moved on casually, sighing. "The past two centuries had become a very hostile place for the gay community - but that is an entirely new and secret and sensitive can of worms. Nowadays it's forgotten how common it used to be.

"After the Greek empire fell, with it fell traditions that lead so easily to homosexuality; and though everything endures, that doesn't make it any less difficult. I mean, come on, guys, girls. In ancient times, lesbians were hated and gay men were sympathized! The total opposite of what we have now. Men love to see women making out, but two men making out? Bring out the pitchforks.

"And isn't it the same reason? Kids? Two guys can't have a child, and neither can two girls, but they can adopt. 'A child should have a mother and a father.' Two women can raise a child just fine, apparently. But two men? Obviously not. That's the opinion held by over 80% of society today. Do you think that's fair?" Most of the heads in the room shook 'no.' Dean sat still as a stone, and the few guys in the room gave sour faces. The professor picked one of them off. "You. Jay. Thoughts?"

"I think it's just wrong." He grumbled, his body language closed off. "Men and women were made to be together. Two guys? That's just… gross."

"The ancient sentiment has been imbedded in you by your parents, and TV, probably, and your friends and family," the teacher agreed. "But just because its gross to you doesn't mean your heterosexuality isn't gross to a gay man or a gay girl, you know." Laughter echoed in the classroom. Comically, she grinned, her wisdom glowing. "It's true! What if they see you kissing in the hallway? Like, ew, gross! Look at them swapping spit! Yuck!" More laughter. She smiled and took off her glasses, pacing before the class with patience. "That's what I mean. It sounds ridiculous, and maybe not all gays think that way, but it's not fair to just say 'that's just gross!' Some tiny men marry big women. Some tiny women marry big men. That's a little gross to me, but it's considered wrong to be grossed out by true love. In hetero's that is." She eyed them and the laughter had changed to confusion. She was right, wasn't she?

Her eyes landed on Dean. He thought he was going to melt into a puddle and evaporate. "Dean," she called. "Thoughts?" He shook his head slowly, flashing her a sheepish smile, but she smiled at him. "Come on. Nothing to add, nothing at all?" Her sharp look left no room for argument.

His Adams apple bobbed. "Well…" He cleared his throat. "I mean, I guess it's… tough for them. I'm not really sure how many people choose to be that way, and how many are born like that – it might be all of one or the other, I don't know. But just being... different like that, it's got to be rough. Like, you pick someone out of your circle of friends and suddenly you're in love with them. Why does it have to matter what gender they are, who they are, why it happened? If its love, its love, right? Well, to the world, it matters. Everything matters. Everybody judges you. But if you knew that, if you couldn't help it, and you still love them anyway, and they love you, then it's gotta be real. It has to be. I mean no one chooses to be scorned for life unless it's who they really are. I don't think its right to judge them. Even if we think it's wrong – cause that takes guts."

"Well said." His professor said gently. "Well said. What have the gays ever done to us, right? Nothing. Not a thing. And we treat them like we used to treat blacks and Asians. As if they were less just for looking different, or having different traditions. You can think any way you like. Just try and think about your reasons to think the way you do – are they fair? Would you want someone to judge you for loving who you love?" Silence. The guys were fuming, the girls looked thoughtful. With a deep breath, the professor launched into the courage of Sappho and her ways, even though she was prosecuted, and the subject of gays was dropped. But Dean had never felt so honest and so terrified. What had he just done? What would they think? He rubbed his eyes roughly. Why did it matter so much? Why?

* * *

_Just to make it smoother I had a few words to the first chapter. Check it out if you like. _


	33. Bravery (Bobby)

_Keep in mind what I keep in mind, when I see people being… different. Acting different, dressing different, or even doing different things. Judging someone doesn't say anything about them. You probably don't even know who you're judging. When you judge others, it's mimetic. Like putting a mirror up in front of you. You see how ugly you can be when you're ugly to others. Be careful what you think and what you say – negativity is never a good idea, and maybe those people really are hurt inside. Do you feel like a good person afterwards? You shouldn't. I never do. Besides, they may be the sweetest or cutest or smartest or wittiest person you ever met – when, or if, you meet them._

_So stay positive. Give everyone a chance until they piss you off. They you can know, and you don't have to speculate. You'll make way more friends and hurt way less feelings that way. _

The day had turned from an acceptable one into a shitty one. The sky had opened up and poured down rain, drenching Dean on his way to Bobby's office, and him without an umbrella of any kind. The ground was like quicksand between sidewalks. Everything was dripping and damp and cold. He pushed through the old, heavy wooden doors into the teachers' offices building and left all the shit weather outside. Shaking out his hair, he wiped water from his face and groaned as he tossed down his backpack. Great. Damn great. He was drenched – everything was drenched. Fuming, he peeled off his soaked jacket and wrung it out. Heavy droplets of water pattered to the wood floor. A drop of water even slid off his nose.

There was a little trouble with him getting up the steps to the second floor with his soaked jeans, but at least his shirt was dry. His long strides were stunted. Eventually he reached the top and hung his jacket and backpack on a hook rack before the hallway of big heavy doors. Bobby's office was at the far end of the hall. Dean took his sweet time, looking at the flyers hung on the corkboard along the walls of the hall, shuffling his feet, glancing through open doors to see empty conference rooms and even a kitchen. He did not want to have this meeting. A clock on the wall read 2:26. Right after his classes. Just like Bobby said.

Dean looked down the corridor at Bobby's door and bit his lip. Should he even do this? What would he think? He was his favorite professor, man. It couldn't be someone he could just blow off. What if this went south? He rubbed his damp hair vigorously with both hands. He had to get this over with. Maybe Bobby would be able to help him out. _Brave. Be brave. You kill ghosts for a living_. Sighing, Dean went to his door, standing before it with steel butterflies in his stomach. They tasted bitter and made him twice as nervous. He lifted a fist and knocked twice… lightly.

"Winchester?" Came the barked question.

"Yessir," Dean replied.

"Come on in." Pushing the door open, Dean stepped inside, glancing around nervously. The office was small, with a desk covered in papers, and three tall bookshelves packed with textbooks and novels of all sorts. An old, worn couch was pushed into the corner, and there were several chairs covered in jackets and extra shirts and duffel bags. There were plants in the big, ancient window and a very disgruntled looking Bobby in his desk chair, behind a thick laptop. Then again… he always looked disgruntled. "Shut the door and sit down, son," Bobby told him, motioning him in.

Shuffling along the warped, creaking wood floors, Dean did as he was told. The door shut with a heavy click and he planted his butt on the couch, which sucked him in.

"You're soaked," Bobby commented, finishing up something on his laptop.

"I need an umbrella," Dean admitted. "I'll pick one up sooner or later. Later is probably more realistic than sooner."

"Know that feelin'." Bobby looked up at him with perceptive blue eyes. "Tell me what happened to you yesterday." The abruptness of the question threw Dean for a loop. He managed to blink a few times, unable to break Bobby's stare. The older man leaned his arms on the desk and shut his laptop. "Come on now, out with it. The librarian spotted you running in after you left my class like a bat out of hell. Said you locked yourself in the bathroom for an hour." That hit its mark. Dean looked away, swallowing. "What's going on with you? Is it about the crash?" Bobby questioned sternly.

"No, I…" Dean worked his jaw but no words came out. He cleared his throat and tried again. "It's not about the crash."

"Then what? You seemed to be doing so damn well before then. Not a single hitch in your stocking." Bobby frowned at him with worry knitting his eyebrows together. "What's knocked you off your rocker?" Dean looked anywhere but at Bobby, trying to find something to grab onto in the chaos of his head. There was nothing there to hold onto, though. He finally just looked up at his professor and the shielded pain in his eyes was all he had. "Is it a grade?" Bobby pressed. "Did you fail something while you were away?" A head shake. "Did your girlfriend dump you?" He tried again.

"Close." Finally, words were coming to him. Dean leaned his elbows on his knees and held out his hands, sighing. "Bobby," he replied quietly, looking at the man with soft admiration. "It's the opposite of being dumped. But it's not a girl I've got to worry about." There. It was done. Dean braced himself.

Bobby stared at him. Then he blinked, and sat back, and looked at his desk. Then up at Dean again. "Balls," he blurted, with empathy Dean hadn't expected.

"Yeah," Dean barked a laugh, surprising himself. "Tell me about it."

"I mean… just… didn't peg you for the type." Bobby eyed him. "Jesus, boy. Make an old man think he's got you figured out, why don'tcha." He blew a sigh and rubbed his neck. "So, what? This kid driving you crazy or somethin'?" The switch right from shock into conversation again. Dean felt a huge weight lift off his shoulders and shake the building when it hit the floor. He stared at Bobby.

"You're not…?" He blurted.

Bobby gave him an eyebrow quirk. "What? Homophobic? Get over yourself, Winchester. You couldn't scare me if you tried." He waved his hand and gave Dean another look. "So, what's the problem? Trouble in paradise?"

Dean ran his hands through his hair, breathing a sigh of relief. The hardest part was over. His heart was beating like mad, pushing adrenaline through his veins. His hands shook. "No. No, it's not him." He looked up. "It's just the idea. The concept. It's a… a little much to stomach."

"Why's that?"

"Well, let's just say I was scoping out chicks in class three weeks ago."

"Jesus. And this guy just…?"

"Well… He's sort of the only reason why I stayed here at school. When my brother dropped me off, I had full intent on staying a day or so before stealing my car back, packing up my things and bolting." Dean confessed. "My dad was the only connection to everything that I had. Ever since I could remember, it was me and him and the road. But this guy… He became like my rock in an ocean of things changing and pushing me around in this strange place. I thought we were just close, but…" He trailed off a bit, remembering that Thursday night three weeks ago. "Anyway, I'm new at this myself. If the me from three months ago asked me to tell him what I was up to, he'd beat me shitless and hit me with our car. I mean, like, literally."

"So you're having trouble coping."

"Loads of trouble," Dean muttered. "I... yesterday, I had a mental breakdown. I've never, ever had anything that huge go down in my head before. I mean it was insane. Me, having a breakdown." He covered his head with his hands and bent it to touch his knees. "It was crappy, Bobby. I don't know what came over me."

Bobby frowned and crossed his arms. "I see." He paused. "So you're in love with this kid, but you're going nuts thinking about the 'why,' and the 'whose gonna be pissed,' and how your life is gonna be now?" Dean nodded weakly. Bobby nodded. "All right. I gotcha now." He took a deep breath. "So, you said your dad was your life line? To everything?" Dean looked up, nodding again. "You did everything he did?"

"Everything," Dean found himself saying. "I listen to his music and wear what he wears and drove the car he gave me. I walk like him, talk like him…" He rubbed his forehead. "I was thinking about this before. I didn't even think I could be my own person until I met Cas."

"Cas?" Bobby asked.

Dean winced. "Castiel." He corrected himself. "That's the guy."

"Oh. All right then." Bobby shifted in his chair as he thought. "Well, did you ever think that being your own man is what's stressing you out? I mean, you've had all your choices laid out for you before now. God forbid you diverge. Was your dad…?"

"No," Dean said quickly. "Not a chance."

"Exactly." Bobby snapped, making Dean jump. "You're so wrapped up in how daddy would feel about your life that you're too damn busy to be happy. You like this kid? He likes you?"

Dean looked at him in awe. "We're happy."

"Then _be_ happy. Forget about what your dad would think. These kids here, they aren't your father. He's not here to judge you. And he hasn't got a right to – you're a grown man, Dean," Bobby pressed. "Be who _you _want to be. You made some friends? If they don't like who you are, tell them to shove it and get new friends. Nothing has changed. You're still you. Just that now, you're making a path for yourself, instead of letting daddy do it for you." Dean stared at him. He smiled sheepishly. "That's not a bad thing. It's just more work, son, that's all." He was right. About everything. Dean saw all the pieces in his head, he'd just been too scared of himself to put them together. He felt as if he'd been miserable in a dark room, unable to find his way out, and Bobby had just come along and flicked on the lights, revealing that the way out was right there all along.


	34. Swing

The next few moments were not Dean's proudest. He cried in front of his professor enough to be embarrassing, and after six tissues and a scolding, he shook his hand adamantly and thanked him for everything at least five times. He even agreed to come back to talk again sometime. Then he left, striding down the hall in a blur and pressing his shoulder to the wall where his backpack was hung when he reached it. His dad. Why didn't he…? Because he didn't want to think about it, that's why. He rubbed his face and threw the last of the tissues away. He was being such a girl about this. Laughing at himself, he reached up and took down his backpack and jacket. His own man. This was going to be interesting.

Glancing up, Dean saw it had stopped raining. The sun was pushing golden fingers through the clouds, pools of light dancing along the lush green campus grass as the clouds toppled over each other to climb north. Thank goodness. He shouldered his pack and threw his jacket over his arm, walking outside. He felt… better. His conflict was sorted out and solved. His head was in order.

Now all he had to do was live it.

As he passed through the library, which was a shortcut to the stairs leading towards his dorm, he nodded to the girl behind the circular librarian counter as he passed, smiling. Finally he could breathe in his own skin. He was about to go through the sliding door when a group of rugby jocks filled it. Stepping back, he didn't get out of the way in time to avoid the knocks into his shoulder they aimed at him. He grunted and watched with a bad taste in his mouth as they strode passed him.

"Watch it, fag," came a grumble, and then they were gone.

Dean turned his back and left. He descended the staircase and crossed the street and had walked all the way to his building before he could see anything but a wave of dizziness and red. Fag? _Fag._ They had called him a goddamn fag. His heart rate began to calm down. It was ok. He was ok. He'd deal with them later. Right now, he felt too good to be knocked down again.

He got back into the room to find Cas taking a nap, in a t-shirt and his boxers in bed. Dean quietly shut the door behind him. He put his backpack down carefully, hung up his jacket to dry, and sank down at his desk, head in his hands. He didn't feel like he would have yesterday – shattered, torn down. Right now he was just… he was angry. Jerk-offs! Forget them. He looked over at Cas, lifting his head. The light overhead was off, but the sun coming through the window made half the room glow.

Castiel had an arm lying over his head, like a protective barrier, his dark hair pressed against the slender flesh of his underarm. His fingers curled softly into his palm as he slept. Everything about him was peaceful and perfect. His lips were parted. The collar of Cas's shirt was old and worn and loose. It hung so his collar was visible, the curve of it perfectly graceful. Dean followed it, and the curve of his throat, and the soft protrusion of his lips and nose. His eyebrows were knit together, though; almost like he was troubled in his dreams. Every now and then a hitch in his breath made it clear that he was indeed dreaming. His free hand was draped across his stomach with a hand over his rising and falling belly, and Dean wished for a moment he were that hand.

He looked so tired. Work and school were getting to him. Maybe he'd ask Sam for the car for a week, to take him to and from his job. Dean looked at his watch. He would let him sleep. At least until he had to go to dinner before work. He untied his boots and put them aside, and changed into dry jeans, hanging his wet ones up beside his jacket. For good measure he changed his wet socks as well.

Just as he was pulling a book out of his backpack to read while Cas slept, a soft noise of protest reached his ears. He looked up in surprise. Castiel had turned his head to face the wall, but the distress was obvious in the elevation of his breathing. "Dean," came the muffled noise, like a call of need. Was Cas ok? Was he sick, maybe? Dean put down his book worriedly and got up. He tip-toed over to his bedside, touching the blankets gingerly. Cas was flinching. His hands closed into fists and slid slightly, as if he were moving them in his dream. His eyebrows pinched together, a flare to his nostrils. "Dean!" He grumbled darkly. Bad dream – maybe it was even a nightmare.

"Cas," Dean whispered as he sat beside his sleeping roommate, covering the fist on Cas's belly with his own hand. "Hey, wake up. I'm right here, buddy." Nothing. Cas kept flinching, and wincing, as if he were fighting something. He hardly felt Dean's touch. Shifting, Dean lay beside him, watching his face as he dreamed. He leaned his head on his bent arm with his body against Castiel and watched him calm down. Slowly. Slowly. Then, with a large intake of breath, Cas's hand worked its way from under Dean's and planted itself in the center of his chest.

Blurry blue eyes slid open, blinking rapidly. They rolled over to Dean and the light missing from them flickered to life. "Dean," Castiel said in groggy relief, and grinned at him lop-sidedly. "Jesus."

"No, Winchester; but close." Dean teased, resting his open palm on Cas's stomach. "You ok there, cowboy?"

"That's the first time you've been there," Cas blurted, licking his lips and swallowing as he drew himself out of sleep. His hand opened over Dean's chest and rested there happily.

Dean blinked. "What do you mean?"

Castiel looked up at him, as if memorizing his face. "I… I've sometimes had dreams like this before. And when I wake up, I'm…" He flickered. "Alone." He curled his fingers in Dean's shirt. "Come here. Please."

"What, do you mean…?"

"Yes, on top of me."

"All right." Confused but obliging, Dean did as he was told, pushing one hand up Cas's shirt as he settled over him, the other around his neck. Cas lifted his head to rest against Dean's arm, his own arms encircling Dean's neck. He kissed his cheek and hugged him close.

"Jesus, that's nice," Castiel breathed, the weight of his lover over his entire body like a safety blanket after traumatic crash.

"I work out," Dean teased softly, pushing his lips into Cas's neck. "Are you feeling all right?"

"Perfectly." Cas sighed happily. "I just needed this. Thank you."

Dean felt the shape of Cas's torso in his hot hand and shut his eyes against the curve of his throat. "If you want, I can always be here when you wake up."

Castiel ran his fingers through Dean's hair and up and down his back. "Please," he replied quietly, and it was settled. The world seemed to fade away to just the two of them. Everything was quiet, and warm, and their breathing synced and their heart beats matched up and everything seemed to relax. Cas sighed. "I love you." He whispered. Turning his head, he felt Dean press a kiss to his lips that was sweeter than honey.

"I love you too," Dean replied, before kissing him again.

After a few minutes, Cas let Dean get up, and he let him put hands all over him while he stretched the sleep out of his arms and legs. He chuckled as Dean pressed a kiss to his exposed stomach when his arms lifted over his head. Dean's every touch was a note plucked on his skin like a harp, a wave burying deep into his muscle and bone, echoing a shaking melody of love into his entire body. "I almost forgot," he said as he propped himself up on both arms. "Did you talk to anyone today?" There was more worry than nag in his voice, although there was a hint of nag. But his eyes were all worry. Dean nodded, sitting on his knees over Cas's legs.

"Yeah. I'll tell you all about it in a minute." The look of confusion he received made him smile. "It went really well. But first…" He slid onto Cas's lap, crotch to crotch, making him blush. After a few days of non-stop sex, yesterday's strange cold feeling had melted. He took Cas's face in his hands and kissed him deeply. A 'he hadn't seen him in a week' kiss. Castiel drunkenly kissed him back, lost in Dean's touch. After being placated with that wake-up surprise he was up for anything.


	35. The Real Thing

After a minute of coy teasing, Castiel pushed Dean onto his back and climbed on top of him, working his hips in a way that made Dean writhe. They'd been experimenting, but nothing like the actual penetration sex Cas had learned from Martius. He thought maybe it was time to break out the big guns. Dean was pretty hook-line-and-sinker'd at this point – he might even really want to. And Cas needed it. He needed it badly. He bit Dean's tongue and his lips and made him beg for something, anything, while giving him nothing.

Cas released Dean - who was panting - to sit up and pull his shirt over his head. His chest flexed and curved, and Dean traced the happy trail on his stomach with delicate fingertips. Cas let the shirt fall off the bed. Then he put his hands on the bed on either side of Dean and flexed as he leaned back down. His lips hovered over Dean's, watching as Dean's eyes and hands roved his bare chest. Snaring his mouth again, Cas trailed his fingers along the inner thigh of Dean's jeans, making him wiggle and feeling his ticklish grin against his lips. It bubbled a grin to his own lips.

He slid his hand to coax Dean's hard-on. Gentle, infuriatingly teasing him, Cas drew back from his hip bucking until Dean realized he was being teased. Then he settled into it. Cas began to leave a trail of kisses down his neck; the beautiful arch of his shoulder to his neck was all he could reach, his thick t-shirt getting in the way. He tugged at the collar with one finger. As if in response, Dean let Cas lift it up over his head, and it fell on top of Cas's on the carpet. The motion made Dean's entire face bright with lust. Running his hands along Dean's soft abs, and his chest, and his sides as his entire torso filled and emptied with coarse breath, Cas sank into his mouth as a strong tide does, drawing him out into the strong current.

When Castiel reached down his own boxers and began to fondle himself he felt Dean's sexual frustration mounting. His dick was so desperately stiff against his stomach. His hand gave some relief, rubbing its base and releasing some thumping jerks. Dean grew increasingly desperate. The soft moans Cas added while he worked himself did not help. "Come on," Dean grunted, his own dick throbbing behind the button of his own underwear. "Cas..." He added with a soft whine as he bit Castiel's lip gently.

"Wait," Castiel whispered, getting himself to a certain point before he released a breath and looked up. "Are you ready?" He asked, looking at Dean with dilated blue eyes, and Dean hesitated. Then it clicked. Cas watched the realization bloom in his eyes.

"Yeah," Dean replied, swallowing. "Top or…?"

Castiel nodded, using his free hand to cup Dean's face as he gazed into it, rubbing his cheek with one thumb. The confidence he instilled in Dean helped ease his nerves. "We're going to lube you up first," he explained, "so it goes in easy. I'll buy a bottle if you feel we need it, but if we can manage without, it's up to you." He smiled mischievously. "But personally, this is my favorite part."

Dean lay back, his whole body vibrating with anticipation for the pleasure to come. Cas pushed his boxers down until he kicked them off. His fingers closed softly around the base of Dean's boner, and began to blow him gently. The soft groans of pleasure were very rewarding. Cas gave him a little extra suck for his patience before being satisfied with his coating. Then he reached up and kissed Dean warmly, working off his boxers. Then he got on his hands and knees.

Dean was harder than ever now. He rose to his knees behind Cas, heart hammering, and put his hands on the pale hips. "Damn," he breathed, enjoying the view. "You got a nice ass, I hate to bash it." That made them both giggle a bit. Dean gripped Cas's waist, and both of them flushed with a pressing heat that made both of them twitch down below. "Here goes nothing," whispered Dean.

Slowly, a bit clumsily at first, Dean began to slide his way in. It was so foreign that it messed with him - but he was way too horny to stop trying. The natural lube was just enough, but each gentle push made Cas ache for more. He pumped his hips softly to ease things along more. It was working. Little by little Dean sank in further; every shiver of his cock was felt like a horny tease inside Castiel. Both of them had been on edge, and it was melting away. A surprised moan shook itself out of Dean's chest as he went in pretty deep. Then, suddenly, he was in up to the hilt. The pleasure that washed over them was mutual. Cas felt all his muscles contract tensely and loosen almost at once with it and he groaned weakly. He hadn't felt someone like this in so long. It was like feeding an old drug addiction. He nursed it, begged for it, and he got what he wanted. Dean's hesitation seem to vanish. He began to pull out and push back in, over and over, gasping at the tightness, and Cas dipped his head as he took it in. His gasps came gravelly and rough. Dean pumped him harder and harder until he was afraid of being too rough, which was just where Cas wanted him. Their moans mixed and mingled until only Cas's voice breaking separated them.

Castiel leaned on one arm and reached down to work himself as Dean hammered him. His head swam with blood rushing to his cheeks and his cock at the same time, his heart pulsating loudly in his ears. The rush and lust bucked him and made him soak it all up; it didn't matter that Dean had never done this before, his past experience with sex was perfect. He was receptive to all Cas's twitches and moans, knowing how to hitch his breath and how to make him cry out.

After what seemed like an endless stream of wordless communication on how to push each other to the brink, Cas felt the tightness of pre-come shudders in his pelvis. Behind him, Dean was putting his hips into it, so it was obvious he was feeling it, too. Their panting even synced up. With a few more loose jerks Cas felt the prick of orgasm. It magnetized his attention and made him beg until he would have done anything to finish himself. At the same time Dean's pumps became softer, the roll of his moan echoing Cas's. Castiel's hand tightened around his cock the exact moment Dean began to thrust madly - and suddenly both of them were bucking with climax. Their mouths opened in silent cries. Rainbows of color exploded behind their eyes and spread from their cocks to their entire bodies. They stretched involuntarily and pushed into it with a lip-biting need; they rode it out hard and fast in order to squeeze every last drop of desire-slick cum out.

The twitch of Dean's cock grew stronger and stronger the more he eased off his rough ride. He'd emptied everything into Castiel. Cas had blown his load over his fingers and the sheets and felt like he was going to collapse from ecstasy. Dean pulled out, slowly, with one last gasp, his dick soft but still jerking gently.

He melted into the sheets in exhaustion, curling up on his side. Cas, bunching up the soaked sheet and tossing it aside, did the same, facing him. They let their jarred bones settle. Reaching out clumsy hands, they twined fingers and legs as well, pressing their foreheads together as they tried to rest. Their exhales and inhales mixed.

Then, they lifted their eyes to see the other, and gravitated together. Their lips meshed and slid over each other. An after-sluice draped over them. Heat reverberated off their satisfied genitals as they lazily snogged. Both were too drunk on relief – sexual and otherwise – to do much else.


	36. Stubble

"You were asleep when I got here," Dean commented after dinner, as they gathered their things for the shower. He looked up from his canvas bag of clothes. Castiel was rubbing his eyes and picking through his set of drawers for something to change into later. His posture was tilted. Half because he was tired, and the other half because he just got railed; that was Dean's guess, anyway. But he looked very tired. "Is everything going all right? I mean, you never really seemed tired during the day before now; and I've never known you to take naps."

Castiel didn't turn to look at him, but he wrapped clean boxers in a clean t-shirt, reaching for his shampoo bottle on top of the dresser. "I just…" He paused, thinking. "I don't know. I've been… tired lately. I guess I'm getting used to working so much. I still have homework to do before I leave, and even in the morning after I wake up… I mean, I have you to look forward to every day. That's fuel enough to keep going. But when I came back from class today, I…" He trailed off as he turned around, and looked down at the things he was holding. "I just hit the bed. And when you woke me up, it was an hour and a half later."

Walking to him, Dean looked into his handsome face to examine his weariness closely. "And then we banged for another hour. Kinda burned off whatever rest you got."

"I suppose so." Cas laughed. "But it was… invigorating." Looking up into Dean's eyes, he smiled at him. "I'll be ok, Dean. I just need some R&R."

"I want to help." Dean protested. "I'm borrowing the car from Sam this week. I'll drive you to work at night, so you don't have to walk."

The blue eyes softened. "Dean. You don't have to, I'm fine."

"I'm going to, though. I'll call Sam when we get back." Dean insisted.

Castiel sighed. "Thank you, Dean. I don't want to put you out of your way, but I know you're incorrigible." He bit his lip. "I_ should_ be asking you how you liked it."

"… The sex?"

"Yes."

Grinning, Dean put an arm around Castiel's hips and kissed him. "Shut up. It was awesome. Although you should be careful, I might get used to it." He walked to the door and Cas followed.

"I wouldn't argue with that," Cas smirked as he tried to suppress a full-blown grin of relief.

They strode down the hall, their door shutting behind them, to the community bathroom. It was empty except a kid shaving at one of the sinks. They walked into the shower section and turned a corner, hiding them from plain sight. Cas glanced around nervously as Dean closed them both into a stall, but the other just put his things aside and began peeling off his clothes. Once they were both stripped Dean turned on the water and waited for it to warm up.

"Is there anything else I can do? I mean, I can always let you sleep more." Dean offered, making sure to speak in low tones. Cas always got up early and went to bed after making out with Dean into the early hours of the morning.

Castiel shook his head. "I'll work it out. I'm sure if I get a few more hours, I'll be back to normal." He ducked under the water, shaking his hair out, and made Dean laugh. "It was all right, though?" Cas pressed, talking about the sex again. He picked up his shampoo. "Really, you didn't mind it?"

"Cas." Dean took the bottle from him and put some of it in his own hands, massaging it into Cas's dark hair as he kissed him, over and over. His strong fingers were mesmerizing, and he pushed the suds off his forehead to keep it out of his heavily-lidded blue eyes. "I love it," he said as he let Cas slide his head under the stream to wash out his frothy locks. "Honestly I thought it'd be more like it always is. But you…" The writhing, the moans, the rough ride… damn… "It was amazing." He said quietly, and meant it, and Cas pushed the water out of his face and brought Dean in for another kiss.

"You should try it sometime," Cas said into his ear gently. Teasingly he flicked water at Dean, who held him under the stream until he was sputtering. Both of them giggled in a childish fashion as they continued to clean bodies and mess with each other, bumping into the walls of the stall. Dean was smothered in suds as Cas poured shampoo openly into his hair and got a Mohawk in return. They clung together and grinned into their kisses and pushed each other around. They were built about the same save for the extra two inches Dean had on Castiel, so they were both pretty durable though all the rough housing, even going so far as to have a flex competition that Castiel lost because he dissolved into laughter. Dean pretended to be his own cheering crowd as Cas rolled his eyes and pushed him into the water.

They calmed down enough for Dean to take out his razor and clean up his stubble. It was against the rules to clog up the sink, so they had to shave without a mirror in the showers. Without Cas he would've missed a lot of spots, though. Castiel ran his fingers through his hair to loosen up the Mohawk as his roomie shaved. When Dean was done he shook out his razor and looked over at him. He had stepped out of the water and was drying off with his towel. "You don't like shaving do you?" He questioned.

"No, not really," Cas confessed. "I'm clumsy; my hands shake."

"I can help." Dean smiled. Surprised, Cas looked at him a minute. Then he hung up his towel and stepped back under the stream, walking up to Dean, who put his free hand around his waist and brought him close. "Do you trust me?" Castiel gave him an even look before nodding softly. "All right." Dean had him stand out of the water stream. He squirted some shave cream into his hands and got in close, pushing it gently along the stubble of Cas's beard, the soft flesh of his cheeks moving with his every touch. Cas blinked but otherwise didn't flinch. He stared at Dean nervously when he was done and washing his hands in the stream. "How much do you want off?" He was questioned.

"All of it. Please," Castiel added, catching himself. He reached out and took Dean by the waist, squeezing his soft midsection for comfort as he lifted the razor. His Adams apple bobbed.

Nodding gently, Dean braced his wrist against Cas's ear and began to gently press the razor to his cheek. His precision was flawless. In even strokes he lifted away the hap-hazard stubble as well as the thick shaving cream. He cleaned up Cas's jawline, was extremely delicate around the lips he loved, and his hands were steady as a surgeon's as he shaved his upper throat. Every touch was like a dose of endorphins to Castiel – even if he was scared of being cut. He was drunk on Dean.

When it was done, Dean put aside the razor and washed Cas's cheeks clean and smiled at him. "Well hey there, handsome; don't you clean up nice." He drew back proudly to let Cas inspect his work.

Castiel's fingers drifted over his cheeks and throat, amazed. A grin filled his lips. "How do I look?" He asked hesitantly. This was the first time he'd been fully shaved in a while. He held an almost childlike cuteness to him now. His blue eyes looked much bigger, their intensity blunted by the lack of darkness on his cheekbones - but not in a bad way. He looked overall clearer and brighter. Although his scruff was pretty damn attractive, Dean was impressed; he hadn't thought he could get any more attractive.

He nodded approvingly. "You look scrubbed up and polished. It's not an artist look, but it's a damn good one." Dean put his razor up and shut off the water, handing him his towel. "I've got some aftershave here, too. You should-"

"Dean," came the sharp blurt, and Dean looked up in shock to see Castiel fumbling with his towel to cover his junk, and staring at the door in heightened humiliation.


	37. Snap

Dean turned to see what Castiel was looking at, and a blur of darkness as someone walked away quickly passed along the small gaps between the shower door and the wall. As if someone had been looking in on them. "Hey," he barked, making it echo angrily off the walls, and wrenched the door open. He leaned out to look. Shadowy footsteps pounded the tile floor. Whoever they were, they had bolted. The door to the bathroom swung violently as they ran off. Dean turned back to Cas, his jaw clenching. "He's gone."

"Jesus. What was that?" Castiel mumbled, embarrassed, as he quickly dried off and began to get dressed. "I mean I know we're sharing a shower, but if you can hear us and figure it out, why do you need to look?"

"We are kinda hot," Dean offered jokingly. The dirty look he got from Cas surprised him. Dean hesitated. Was Castiel embarrassed to be seen naked? I mean, I guess on some level it was violating, but all guys looked the same. Right? Dean dressed steadily, putting his stuff up, confused at the agitation in his best friend. "I mean it was probably a guy, we're all guys," he tried. "He's probably just uncomfortable with us sharing a shower. Does it bother you that much that he saw you…?"

Castiel looked away and hastily pulled on his shirt, ignoring him, and buckled the belt of his jeans with too much concentration.

Dean stared at him as he fumbled with his things. "Cas, it's all right to feel bad. Not to seem like a big player, but a lot of people have seen me naked; I guess that's why it doesn't bother me. But you're a handsome guy, you know." He made a thoughtful bob his head as he raked his eyes over Castiel. "You actually look great naked."

Shyly, Cas rubbed his face, and stopped moving around long enough to glance at Dean. The compliment had broken his anger. "I apologize," he said softly, "I… In high school, when I was bullied they used to bully me… in the locker room." He looked down at his hands. "They used to taunt me and tell me I was all sorts of stupid things. I looked… small; that I was ugly, things like that." Warm green eyes listened with a sharp guilt in them. Cas looked at his feet. "But those stupid things still got to me. I started to believe them." He gave Dean a sad, sheepish look. "I don't anymore. But I don't… people that I don't trust, I mean… anyone. I'm worried about what they would think."

"If anybody thinks anything bad about you, I'll personally punch them so hard that they never think straight again," Dean declared, "and give them an unprofessional tongue piercing if they even mention something like that." Warm hands touched Castiel's clean skin, sliding under his soft cotton shirt and grasping at the gentle swell of his belly, rubbing the bumps and curves of his abs and chest. The dark haired boy sighed into Dean's touch, his dark stress easing away. He held on by the back of his neck and hugged him. "I love you. You look amazing, Cas." Dean murmured, pulling him close and brushing his lips along his neck. "You're packing. And you're the only guy I've ever been attracted to naked - that alone should be enough to convince you."

"It is," Cas smiled as Dean drew back to look at him. He drank in the love in his eyes. "Having you act the way you do around me… You give me confidence, Dean. You made me see that they were just assholes. And they were. But I need convincing sometimes, and you convince me. Just your touch washes away anything they ever made me believe." They kissed slowly, with an uncanny tenderness, and parted long enough to be plutonic on their way back to the room. They walked together and nothing stirred. No one came forward to apologize, or taunt them. All they heard were fans buzzing and lazy conversation behind shut doors and Benny and Garth shouting adamantly over video games. Back in the room, Cas changed into his work clothes and Dean called Sam, and they got their things and left to wait for Sam to come. On their way down the hall, a door creaked open behind them and it made both of them whirl around. It slammed shut so quickly they didn't see who had been behind it, but they did see which room might hold their peeping tom – and it was the one right beside theirs.

Dean and Cas exchanged anxious looks. That means they'd probably heard everything they'd been doing, too. "Do you think he's the same one who keeps calling Ricky?" Cas whispered as they walk out into the parking lot.

"Maybe. When I come back tonight, I'm gonna find out," Dean replied darkly.

Castiel fell silent. When Sam pulled up, they climbed into the car and thanked him profusely for giving up the car for a week. He waved them off. "Couples need their freedom," he teased, making Dean smack him. They dropped Cas off at work with a kiss good-bye, and on the way to Sam's college to drop him off, Dean told him about their stalker. "Sounds like you've got a punching bag," Sam laughed, and Dean shook his head.

"I don't know, man. I mean we're not bothering anybody. We keep to ourselves. I'm just starting to be comfortable with this, and some jack ass is trying to butt in."

"I don't know, Dean. Maybe he's just curious."

"What do you mean?"

"Well he might be… in the closet. Maybe he likes you two… or something."

Dean stared out the windshield with a bewildered look on his face. "Like a threesome?"

Cackling, Sam hit the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. "Dude, I don't ever wanna _think _about that again," he winced, "But yeah, maybe. Or he could just be afraid of you. Some people are scared of gay guys - they think they'll get treated by gay men like they treat women."

Sitting back, Dean blinked. He had a point there. Gay guys he'd seen that were flamboyant chased straight guys around like guys chased girls. They called them out and whistled at them and got all handsy. Got all outlandish over them when they were drunk. The parallels were obvious now that he thought about it. He had no words for the clarity of that explanation.

"That's why I'm ok with it," Sam offered. "I mean, you're my brother. Whatever you want is… totally ok with me. And we're both pretty respectable with women. We don't ever treat them obnoxiously; we aren't afraid of the karma. So maybe just douchebags who actually are, are the ones afraid of gays."

Dean watched Sam walk off across the campus after they'd parted ways. He sat behind the wheel of his baby and sighed. Ok, so maybe this stalker kid was just afraid of him. Or liked them. He wasn't gonna lie, that thought was flattering, but at the same time he didn't want to share Castiel. Besides - Cas didn't want anyone except him to see him naked. His sturdy shoulders, the curve of his collarbone, the curly dark hair on his chest, the flesh of his stomach, the snail trail down the front of his boxers… Blushing, Dean pulled back out onto the road and drove back to his own campus. He'd just talk to this kid. That's all. Just a talk.

Dean parked the Impala and checked his watch. He'd pick Castiel up at nine. It was hardly five thirty; he had plenty of time to kill. Going back into his building, he walked down the hall, his eyes seeking out the stalker kid's door. He knew a few kids on their hall – tough Benny and dorky Garth, arrogant Uriel and crazy Frank, a ton of wrestler kids, some who liked to keep to themselves – but the room to their left had two tall, silent kids in novelty t-shirts who hardly left the room let alone went to class. They constantly had headphones on so it was not shocking they had no clue Dean and Cas were banging. But the room on the right had only one kid, as far as he knew. His roommate had gotten drunk and fallen out a window and been expelled. He didn't know who it was that was still there, or what their deal was, though. All Dean knew was that he transferred from another college at the last minute for some reason.

Walking up to his door, Dean glanced over at the stalker kid's room. He didn't want to do this. But for Cas, he had to. He had to mark his territory. Anyone who peeps is a creeper – and because Castiel was anxious about it, the guy had to know he was hurting someone by doing it.

Time to man up. Sighing through his nose, Dean put back his shoulders and walked to stand in front of the mystery door, knocking twice. He felt pretty powerful in his leather jacket and black t-shirt and scuffed-up jeans and boots. His glare was in place, and so was his clenched jaw. Let somebody mess with him. Almost two minutes later, the seconds ticking passed with exaggerated length, the door knob turned and the door cracked open slowly. Dean expected a short, stocky jerk with a scowl and a douche-stache trying to challenge his life style. But instead he actually just got a kid.

The guy was skinny. He was Cas's height but with no muscle. He had rumpled, dirty blonde hair and big pale blue eyes, his façade more like a deer in the headlights than a stubborn jerk like Dean imagined. There was a very cute high-schooler look to him in his long-sleeve, awkwardly striped shirt and khaki shorts and thick athletic socks. His thin limbs knocked together. He rubbed one arm with a slender hand, longer and thinner than Cas's hands, and looked at Dean with a guilty look on his baby face. "Yeah?" He cleared his throat and try again. "Can I… can I help you?"

Dean's anger just about faded. He looked seventeen, eighteen years old. Blinking, he just gave the kid a confused look. "Yeah, uh, actually you can." He cleared his throat. "My friend was spied on in the shower today, and he didn't appreciate it." Flashing the kid a smile, he put his hands on his hips. "You wouldn't know anything about that, wouldja?"

The guilty look on his face was accented nicely by a bright blush. "I'm sorry," he blurted, "I'm really sorry. I just… you guy are… I…" He put his hand on his forehead and stared at the floor passed Dean. "I don't know what's wrong with me." Looking up at Dean again he gulped. "Are you gonna kill me?"

Dean put up his hands, still recovering from the shock of getting an apology. "No, I'm not," he said kindly, studying the boy's face. "Want to tell me why you were looking at my friend naked?"

He got a wide-eyed look. "I thought he was your boyfriend," he blurted.


	38. Samandriel

_I love you, my readers. Please give me your patience with my updates._

* * *

With a sigh Dean pushed the kid back into the room and shut the door behind them. He didn't need this kid to let the whole damn floor know with his big mouth. Moodily, turned back to face him, putting his hands on his hips. Dean was about to yell when his eyes were caught by the posters covering the walls. He blinked as he took it all in. Musicals, rock shows, movies. It was an impressive OCD-like set up of a movie hoarder's dream. DVD's covered his bookshelf and the floor and the boxes under his bed, collectables in pristine cases on his shelves. The bed was made and the floor was spotless and everything was put in perfectly orderly place. Even the open laptop on his polished desk was dust free. He looked back to this kid, nodding in surprise, and saw he was being stared at.

"Look," Dean said firmly, squinting at him a bit. "What me and my friend do together is nobody's business, all right? We're not bothering anybody and don't plan to. So tell me who you are and what your problem is, and I'll be on my way."

Shy, nervous, but still ready to stand up for himself, the anxious blonde looked like he'd just been watching a movie when Dean came knocking. His TV was paused on a frame of Captain America – one of his many posters, too – and his hair was ruffled up, as were his clothes. His bed had a single crumpled blanket on it, his pillow collection organized easily to support him upright when he sat down. A box of Cheese-It's were leaning against the wall, balanced on his comforter. A Mountain Dew was beside it. Although lounging looked to be his favorite hobby, he wasn't pudgy at all. His legs were pretty thin and his waist was incredibly so, but he did have pretty broad shoulders. He had a baby face with big, expressive eyes, shielded only by fear, and a curl to his lips. His nervous hands shifted under sleeves too long for him, and his khaki shorts hung off his hips lop-sided.

"Samandriel," the kid was determined not to look like a total wuss. He refused to back down; Dean would give him props for that. "And I… don't have a problem with you guys being… whatever you want to be." He crossed his arms over his chest defensively. There were reds and blues and awkward tans on his striped shirt, making it look like a '70s nightmare.

"Then what is it, Sam?" Dean questioned, getting shivers just relating this kid to his little brother. "Cause you made Castiel feel pretty damn bad tonight, and he's got enough to worry about without you giving him grief. Why did you watch us? You like him or something?" His anger crept into his tone. The wide-eyed look he received froze on Samandriel's face like he just got called out on camera, on national television. That was proof enough. Dean lifted his eyebrows. "You do." Jealousy and anger pricked at him.

"I-I-" Samandriel stammered, fidgeting under Dean's stare. He tightened his arms over his chest and his humiliation made his face beet red. "I didn't mean to, all right?" He snapped. "I heard you guys when I came in to wash my dishes. I wanted to know if it was really the two of you. I've been... hearing you… for a while."

"Yeah, I figured that. You kept sending Ricky after us," Dean shot back.

Samandriel's face contorted in anger. "I thought you were hurting Castiel," he barked, making Dean's anger plummet again. "So I was concerned! I made a few calls! I honestly thought you were beating him, I – I was worried." Licking his lips, he calmed down, shrugging loosely, "When I heard you two in the bathroom, I wanted to see if I could make it look like an accident that I opened Cas's stall door and saw his bruises, and report you." He swallowed. "When I saw how you two were together, in the same shower, shaving…" He looked up. "I realized how stupid I'd been."

Dean stared at him. "You mean to tell me," he blurted, "you were worried I was beating up Castiel?" He blinked as a thought touched his mind. Castiel… How did Samandriel know his name? "Wait, do you… know him?"

"Yes. I went to high school with him." Samandriel ran his fingers through his hair and walked off, pacing in the room. His socks padded over the thin carpet. "He barely noticed who I was. Martius commanded his attention ever since we were kids. I knew he would figure out it was me eventually living right next to him, but he was never really aware of me. I just wanted to help him if he was in trouble." At the last bit, he turned and made a helpless motion with his arms at Dean, guilty but taking responsibility, which got him brownie points.

Dean nodded, looking at the floor. "Well, he's just fine," he said gently, looking at the kid. "I take pretty good care of him. I'm glad you want to protect Castiel – that's all right with me, I'm glad for it. I thought you were some damn creeper trying to mess with him." He held out his hands. "But as you can see, I'm not abusive. And you're not a creeper?"

Samandriel nodded briefly, glancing him over. "Definitely not. You're…?" He pursed his lips.

"Dean. Dean Winchester," Dean reached out and shook his hand. Sam wiggled one arm from being tightly stuck against his chest and closed warm fingers around Dean's. "I'm new 'round these parts. Any friend of Cas's, you know the routine. Nice to know our neighbor."

"Dean. I'm sorry I thought the worst of you," Samandriel said quietly, giving him a sheepish look. "I really feel like a jackass." When he got his hand back, he tucking it under his arm again shyly.

"It's ok. Really. Looking out for Cas is a big job, I know." Dean flashed him a smile back. "I know I look pretty sketchy too, so. It's just good to know I have a partner in crime. Do me a favor, though? No more freakin' peep sessions. I mean I look damn good naked, but Cas doesn't like it."

Samandriel suppressed a grin, nodding, as if his regular humor was peeking through the anxiety. "No problem. Didn't mean to in the first place - that was really an embarrassing accident." He laughed and glanced at Dean. "So you guys are…?"

"Together." Dean nodded. "Sorry if we make a lot of noise. We try not to."

Samandriel just shook his head. "It's, uh, it's ok. It's cool. You seem like a cool guy, and I know Cas is a good guy too, so I'm not holding it against you." He rubbed his neck, "I upset Cas, huh?"

"Yeah, you did. He got really sensitive. When they bullied him at school, you know... It takes a bit of convincing to get his mind away from those ideas. But it back-wheeled him when you caught him off guard."

"I remember." Samandriel looked off. "I should apologize."

"Yeah, and say hi." Dean got a surprised look. "Really, man, Cas needs a friend. Maybe he'll appreciate the company. I can tell you care about him – that's all you need, man."

Samandriel stared at him a little, a small smile on his face. "Yeah, all right. I might work up to it when I get the right time. Thanks, Dean."

Dean nodded. "Anytime," he winked, "Take care, kid. I'll see you around, ok?" He left him with a small wave, going to his own room. At once he heard the movie resume behind the closed door.

When his door was shut behind him he sighed, sinking into his desk chair. At least it was another friendly face; they'd been damn lucky about that so far. But Samandriel. What kinda name was that?

And how long had he liked Castiel? Dean didn't like that. I mean, he was really attached to Cas, they were… intimately in need of one another. The thought of anyone trying to part them made him intensively furious. He took out his homework and checked his watch. He had a good amount of time left. He needed to calm down. So that kid was crushing on Cas; he'd gotten that and loads more off him vibe wise. He felt half jealous and half pretentious, like he got Castiel only after a few months, when Samandriel had liked him since high school and had never been with him.

He marinated in his pride for a while in order to banish his jealous emotions. His homework got finished, and he was reading ahead for his bible class when he glanced down at his watch. Time to go get Cas. Feeling much easier, he left the building and climbed into his car and slid off into the night, wondering how to break this Samandriel news to Castiel.


	39. The Truest Kind of Dream

In the car, Cas was sitting in stunned silence, work having worn him passed real reactions. Dean had told him most everything, except that the kid had a crush on him, and was swinging out around a nice even bend in the road as the night slid passed them. The air was warm and the day had left a soft sigh on the usually chilled ground. Everything reverberated with it. The trees shifted in the remaining breeze, the grass flourishing thick and deeply spring green in the light of the lampposts flashing by. Bugs floated neatly around each hot bulb they passed and the neon signs from the bars and mom and pop shops glowed. The moon hung overhead in a black sky shadowed in big, thin clouds, draped like bangs over its nape. Sighing, Dean shrugged a bit and pursed his lips as glow of another lamp post slid over the car and through the windshield, dancing along his sharp features and illuminated his rich brown leather coat.

"At least he's not a jerk off," he offered.

"Dean." Castiel took a deep breath, "Samandriel is infatuated with me."

Looking over in surprise, Dean gave him a confused look. "He told you?"

Cas's eyes were tinged with fear as he glanced over at Dean, then at his lap. "He stalked me most of my life. Like the best friend I never wanted. He told me everything, especially that he was in love with me, but… I was not attracted to him. His openness put me off." He shrugged a bit, stiffly. "He was always a boy, and I was only attracted to men."

"So he was immature?"

"Yes. He spilled his heart out to me, and I could tell it was tainted by my appearance. He didn't truly… love me. He just wanted me. Before I was ready. I knew that, even from a young age, that he was only surface. There was no depth to his affection. If I ever became horrible disfigured he would quickly turn me away," Castiel muttered, and sighed. "My heart meant nothing to him, though he believed it did. He never understood that we were incompatible. But I could never convince him of it. He was infatuated – it was useless. Still is." Watching his fingers pull on a loose string on his sleeve, he clenched his jaw. "I thought… that I had escaped him. At graduation." He glanced over at Dean guiltily.

Dean stared from the road, to him, and back. "Wow." He managed. That was a shock. The guy had seemed so damn normal. "Jesus. Sorry, then. I told him to try and be your friend again." He winced. "Big mistake."

Castiel rubbed his face. "I'll take care of it. I… He was always trying to be there for me when I needed help, he… My depression, my loss, my life – he just never understood, though he forced himself to try. I was too far away for him to reach. But he did try." He shook his head. "I wish he hadn't. Then I would owe him nothing."

When they got back, Dean shut the door behind them, and Cas fell into bed fully clothed. He sighed into the pillow as Dean put his things away and kicked off his boots. "Gonna change, handsome?" Dean teased as he began to undress. "You can crash right after, I promise." He walked over to Castiel, who didn't move. His eyes were shut and he was curling up to get cozy.

"Can't I just stay this way?" He muffled.

"No, I can't see you under all those clothes," Dean teased, a smile crinkling his eyes. "Come on, buddy." He pulled off Cas's sneakers and shut off the lights, stripping himself down to a t-shirt and his boxers. Then he sat beside Cas in the dark and the dark haired boy let him work off his blue vest, and his nice dress shirt, and his slacks. Everything was tossed onto the other empty bed.

In a simple black wife beater, boxer briefs, and long socks in Dean's bed, Cas had hardly put any effort into undressing and it was clear he had none to give. Dean pulled the blankets up and slid in alongside him in the thin cot. Tucking the blankets around him - covering his strong shoulder, and his strong chest and back, his hair splayed over the pillows and his lips parted wearily - Dean wiggled under the soft sheets and wrapped his body around Cas to give him a fortress to sleep in.

Gratefully, Castiel pressed his face to Dean's chest and curled his hands against his waist as their legs twined beneath the covers. A heavy, inconceivably happy sigh reverberated from his chest as he sank into slumber, and Dean shut his eyes and smiled. The feel of a warm body beside him lulled him quickly into a cocoon of his own. Sleep wrapped them up together and tied them in a neat bow of warmth and happiness.

Dean dreamed a heavy dream. He could barely move except for walking, and it was more of a shuffle. Everything was white except the wood floor. It was cold but his socks were thick. The walls curved into a doorway, which he walked into curiously. It lead to a room with all the windows shut and covered with thick curtains. It had a bed, a big one, covered in messy sheets. Everything smelled like burned candles and sex.

He saw who was on the bed and felt a deep shock rattle his bones. Feverish Castiel was kissing shy Samandriel. Both of them were mostly naked – in socks and boxers – and it was clear they were getting intimate. Dean stepped back, wanting to bolt back into the hall, but his legs were stones.

Cas looked up casually and glanced him over. A seductive smile curled onto his savory lips as his dark eyes sought out Dean's. "I was just about to call you," he rasped. Which was weird. Dean didn't use his cell, and Cas's was only for work and home. Why would he call him? "Samandriel decided to pay me a visit, but… He seems to be a bit worse off. If you know what I mean." He leaned back so Dean could see the tent in Samandriel's boxers, which made him want to lurch over and strangle him dead. He was horny for Cas. His Cas. And his Cas was about to-

"Dean, do you like to watch?" Cas interrupted his whirling thoughts with a pointed hint. When Dean could focus on his face he saw a hot flush and labored breathing. He was going to do it. Cas's hand – Dean's favorite, the one that always rubbed him the right way – began to rub Samandriel. The blonde was leaning back on his arms, knees knocking apart, and had been looking rather guilty the whole time. Now he was writhing under Castiel's touch.

Dean was standing right beside the bed now. He wasn't entirely sure when he had taken those few steps up to them.

But Castiel was on top of Samandriel, making out with him, working his hips in that way that made Dean weak in the knees. His heart raced. Castiel grabbed Sam's hair and worked his boner and pushed his hot body against the thinner one and panted and moaned. It was like a porn video.

Seeing Cas so fucking horny was hot as hell – Dean felt himself getting a hard-on just watching, but his heart was being ripped apart. Cas was his. His. No one else's – no one else's to touch or have or to enjoy his touch.

This was wrong. Humiliating. Heart-breaking. A sob ached in him that he refused to release. His heart was like a sticky note being torn to shreds – no matter how small the colored pieces got, they kept tearing again and again, bleeding sorrowful flecks from every jagged edge.

Then suddenly, Dean was looking up at the sky. An angel was falling from heaven. His angel. The whisper of its fear filled him, terrified for landing, but he knew he would catch him before he was hurt. Before he created a crater in the earth big enough to span his entire grace. Dean spun around and around and around in one place, his boots scratching the dirt, his vividly green eyes open wide as he took in the sight of a million angels falling from the sky. They were falling everywhere, and so fast, like rockets; but knowing all along which one was his lover gave him strength.

Everything melted into a puddle, beside him on the ground, where he was lying, injured. He knew at once that it was healing water. Plunging headfirst into it, pushing his whole body through after tugging at the sleeve of his jacket caught on a rock, his feet hit the ground and he was running - vaulting over over-turned cars on the highway, the world in flames around him. All he had was a sawed off shotgun out of ammo and an empty thigh holster. His entire body was screaming with the pain of running so far and so fast – his heart felt like it was going to explode, and his head was spinning with adrenaline and fear. They were coming. Faster, faster. Had to get out. Had to get back.

He took a running leap and the toe of his boot got caught on the rear view mirror of a car sticking straight up from the door. It flung him into a path where his face was about to come into direct contact with the asphalt. Very quickly, and very painfully. He braced for impact.

Jerking awake, Dean sucked in a deep breath and felt his arms and legs flinch around Castiel. The room was dark and his head was heavy but his mind was pitching and spiraling, and his chest heaved involuntarily as Castiel shifted beside him.

"Dean," he whispered, voice laden with sleep. "It's all right. It was a nightmare. I'm here."

The smell of Cas's musk and the sound of his voice was calming, but Dean couldn't entirely calm down. Everything in him was on high-alert. The warm, perfect hands that cupped his face and pressed against his neck; the lips that blessed his brow and his cheeks; the soft feel of Castiel's dark hair between his fingers; all of it soothed him back to reality, bit by bit. Soon he could focus on the scruffy face draped in shadows before his own.

He kissed Cas on the mouth with all the relief of a man dreaming of his lover cheating, only to wake and find it a lie, and it sparked a lust between them. They had a feverish, quick, hard spurt of touching that evolved into grinding and grunts. Cas bucked his hips and Dean initiated sex late in the night, blossoming heated noises and gasping moans that drove them both over the edge very fast. The bed squeaked madly and Cas bucked with Dean deep inside him and the darkness gave them courage to be less accommodating, banishing Dean's nerves entirely. He rode Cas without remorse or hesitation and it was a damn good ride. Both of them pushed their bodies to the limit grasping desperately for orgasm. Upon reaching it, they cried out in unison, raggedly, and the synchronization to their bodies was unmatched.

When it was over they collapsed, helplessly exhausted, into each other's arms. They pushed their faces and bodies and hands and legs together shamelessly with a deep need for skin-in-skin comfort before dropping right off into sleep again in their sex-soaked sheets.

Neither dreamed any further that night, but they woke with heated memories.


	40. Altercation

Castiel was in art class the next day, covered in charcoal. It was all over his hands and arms and his fingers were black, and it smeared on his chin and his neck and both his cheeks - and especially his forehead and his nose. He was covered. His eyes glowed with it; somehow, he had gone wild. Usually he did the same thing every day; sat, silently listened to the teacher teach and critique, take out his paper, practice studying the subject, then jump on the good paper and polish off a finished piece. Today, he felt… different. Better. Like he'd been sick for a while, and he'd woken up refreshed for the first time in weeks. His hands were itching to draw and his heart was full of energy and ambition.

The teacher was a wiry man in his early thirties, with thin, long curling brown hair in a neat ponytail at the nape of his neck. He had big glasses and kind blue eyes and a faintly blonde mustache and very, very expressive, agile hands. There wasn't a moment where he wasn't moving - showing someone how to do something they were unsure of, or acting out a motion they could use in order to draw. He walked around in dark jeans and old turtlenecks under flannel shirts, and always smelled like aftershave and pastels. But he loved Castiel's work and appreciated his quiet brilliance, allowing him to expand his horizons when he had hit and passed normal standards.

Castiel had gotten his permission to move on, and was drawing the people in his class on big newsprint paper pinned up on the soft carpeted wall. Turning his head to study their curved forms as they scowled over badly depicted pinecones and plastic fruit, he swept his hand over the paper. The still life set up around the room had bunches of desks around each, and served to annoy each and every one of them… except Cas. After finishing his own still life he had been given whole-hearted permission from his busy art instructor to move on. And moved on he had. His whole class sat in shelled lines, waiting to be filled in. Three already had been. He was working on three more at once, their positions pointed, the jut of every jaw and elbow and knee perfection.

Detailed stray hairs from a girl in the class hung in mid-air around her straightened red hair, the curve of her nose unattractive but full of character. She had small hands and long eyelashes. Then there was a boy in a hoodie, slouched over, lacking much inspiration. The curves in his calves and the push of his palm into his cheek as he leaned on it was picturesque.

Of course, a few had noticed him, but the unaware ones were much more elegantly apathetic. They made the best portraits. The ones aware fidgeted and squirmed and pretended to smile and look amused. When, in fact, that was like lying. They were bored to tears. Alerting them to his work created the lie. He was glad to ignore them for the better targets. When they realized this and forgot about him, he'd return, and snap a still of who they really were at that moment, outside the lie.

Castiel pushed the darkness of the shadows around a boy's nose into the freckles splayed under his glasses. There was a delicacy in his touch but the picture itself was dark. He had a hard hand. He put in the bent bridge of the boy's nose in definition under the curl of his thick dirty blonde hair. The part to his lips was scornful. He had beautiful arms, though, climbing down from his pushed-up sleeves. They curved into thin wrists and full hands, slender and broken up, as if he worked labor jobs. At his thin size it was a surprise but not unheard of. He wasn't very tall. Probably did some precise work, with the weariness around his fingernails and the bent knuckles. They couldn't draw well passed first grade tries, but they could build, and that was damn fine with him. Cas's fingers burned with a need to capture his snarl and the gaping shadows in his eyes.

Shading the curl of his shining hair, Cas heard the stifle of a protesting noise and turned to see his subject becoming aware of his work. His innocent blue eyes turned to cast over the flustered blonde. Unsure of how to apologize for wanting to capture his anger, and frustration, Castiel simply swallowed and lowered his hands from the picture. Maybe if he stopped those emotions would not turn towards him.

No such luck. The kid, Jensen, got up and threw down his pencil. "What the hell is that?" He snapped.

"You," Castiel blurted, and at once knew that was a bad idea.

The bubbling anger rose to a boil. "You're drawing dudes? We are right here, man. That's weird as hell." Jensen yelled.

Dumbfounded, Castiel just stared at him. Someone who didn't want to be an art piece? Or maybe, he just didn't want anyone else to see the fury behind his eyes captured forever in a still frame of him. Either way his deflection of the truth using homophobia was unattractive and disappointing. Cas glanced him over sadly. "I can cease drawing you, if it's bothering you so much."

Jensen's eyes kept glancing to the piece, his shame mounting. Every curve of his charcoaled, angry lip was a word in a short narrative of his short temper. "Damn right you're gonna stop. I don't want you drawing me, you fucking faggot; I don't even want you looking at me," he seethed. The personal infliction in the boy's voice was shocking. Kids who hadn't already turned to watch were staring at him, taken aback.

Castiel started at Jensen's roaring flames and drew back from their roaring heat, obviously hurt. A great sadness welled up in his ribcage. It crashed against his heart and drowned his lungs and made him feel like he needed to gasp for air. But instead waves filled his throat and his belly. He opened his mouth and it poured out. "What the hell is wrong with you?" He demanded defensively. "Your gender is irrelevant to my orientation – my life choices are none of your concern!"

"It is my 'concern' if you're putting me all over your art," Jensen protested angrily, "I don't _want_ you drawing me. All day you sit around here like you own everything 'cause you can draw, and then you go back and fuck your boyfriend at night. You're disgusting. So keep me out of it, fucking weirdo."

Castiel felt the lick of rage against his heart. "_It is one thing to not like me drawing you_," Cas shouted, "One, you could just ask me not to, politely, instead of pouring your pretentious _bullshit_ all over me!" Jaws dropped. Eyes widened. "Two, do NOT tell me I'm being selfish about being able to draw. I've been doing it all my life! Condemning me for this is like saying hard work is arrogant." Castiel pointed wildly at his piece. "Three, I am drawing the girls in this class just as well as I'm drawing you! You have no right to think I'm paying special attention to anybody, let alone you. What do you think I'm doing, picturing you naked?!"

The scorn in Jensen's eyes answered Castiel.

"Don't be an arrogant fuck, Jensen," Cas said coldly, shaking with anger. "Just because I'm gay, doesn't mean I like all guys_._ As a matter of fact, _you_ are the least attractive male I know." He said with harsh finality, and did not mean it. Jensen was cute in his own way – everybody was. Just because he was a jerk didn't mean he wasn't a human being. He didn't deserve to be treated like he was treating him. Castiel swallowed his remorse, blinking guiltily as he saw Jensen shaking with emotion just like he was, his eyes a swarm of anger and hurt.

The teacher had come running from down the hall, where he'd heard the echoing commotion. His footsteps were rapidly approaching. "What the hell is going on?" Jeff, the art instructor, demanded as he stepped in. He stood in the doorway looking distraught and glanced back and forth between them, his thin frame tense with anticipation.

The others had all gotten up or shrunk down into their seats. A few guys were hovering by Jensen, hands stretched out to hold him back, as if he might lunge. Between the two instigators their glaring match remained one-sided. Cas was just guilty and hurt now, his anger having come and gone in a flash. It didn't take much to grab Jensen's elbow and ease him away from Cas. The glare broke. Cas looked at his shoes. Jensen shrugged off the helping hands and grabbed his things and stormed out. Turning away, Castiel took down his art and folded it as neatly as possible with violently trembling hands, a storm of emotion building up behind his eyes.

Jeff watched Jensen leave and put a hand on Cas's shoulder, making him jump. "What happened?" He asked, but Cas just shook his head and fumbled with his coat. "Cas? Cas." He let the boy go, watching as he took a different door and shuffled out, leaving silence in his wake.


	41. Exposed

The whir of projectiles around his head, the rush of the hunt, the blood pounding in his ears; Dean dove behind another obstacle and spun onto his knee, sliding in the leaves as he picked up his gun and mercilessly fired shots at a moving figure a few yards off. A cry met each shot and he grinned darkly as he got to his feet with triumph. "That's the last one," He called, and threw down his plastic mask. "Game!" At the sound of him breaking cover, all the exposed players lifted their guns and pelted him with what was left in their paintball cartridges. He yelped and held up his hands but they were no defense. He was laughing by the time it was over, and laughter met him, warm hands grabbing his shoulders and arms.

"Nice going, Winchester," Benny said, stoic but smiling by his side, and the rest of the rugby team continued to congratulate and tease him. They tossed their paintball guns into the pile and began to count shots. Teasing Dean for being covered in points, they pushed each other around and joked until it was four 'o clock. Time to head back. Their early paintball match had been called hastily when their English class cancelled. They'd grabbed as many of the rugby team as possible and Dean and run to get a game in before sunset.

"See you next Tuesday, Dean," the team captain called, leading the others off down the mountain path to campus. It was thick with foliage and there were plenty of places to slip and fall if you weren't careful, but they would have it no other way.

Benny hung back and crossed the paintball field to Dean as he fumbled with his vest. "Good job out there, man." He smirked. "When will we be able to shoot up that roommate of yours? The way you rant about him is like you two are married."

Dean laughed a bit sarcastically, rubbing blue paint from his chin. "Well, not exactly. But we're damn close. He doesn't like this kinda stuff though – he's artsy, not really sportsy."

Benny bobbed his head. "Ok, ok. Doesn't mean he can't come by sometime, meet the boys." He glanced Dean over. "You look better, brother."

"I feel better. Bobby talked me out of a tight corner; I guess I just needed somebody to bust my balls, you know?"

"I hear you there. I heard from him that you had a rough time. He didn't tell me much, but…" The shuffle of equipment and the zip of Dean's bag filled an awkward silence between them. Taking a deep breath, Benny sighed, glancing around. "Can I ask you something, Dean?"

Dean nodded nervously, glancing at Benny as he slung his duffel bag over his shoulder and shook out his jeans. "Yeah, shoot, man."

Benny's blue eyes were like needles piercing his façade. He stared right into Dean, who wilted. "I've mowed through three girls already, and you talked nothing but tail 'til a week before your crash. For all your words you ain't touched a single one this year." His tone was so careful that it killed Dean. "Not to be judgmental – I'm not – but… Are you... you know… bumpin' uglies with Cas, by chance?" He asked hesitantly.

Shock hit Dean like a freight train. Over their passed few get-togethers, Dean had been changing. He'd been less sexual about girls consciously – thinking and talking mostly about Cas – although they still appealed to him. A pair of legs in daisy dukes still turned him on. It just less about them and more about how they looked, rather than wanting one. He was happy now. Like a married man, actually. So he'd talk to the boys about them, but not about regular sex slandering them.

He'd thought he did it pretty smoothly, too. Guess not. Benny had noticed. Shit, what now?

Blinking, Dean swallowed, tilting his head to the side a bit as he glanced away. "That's a way to put it." His gut was roiling with anxiety suddenly, his heart kicking into overdrive.

"I'm sorry, brother, I don't mean to pry – you know me," Benny pressed, "I figured I'd make damn sure before I made any assumptions, you know?" He shrugged and pushed his hands into his coat pockets, motioning for Dean to walk with him. "I just wanted to be straight with you." Obliging, Dean watched him carefully as he studied the gravel. The rugby man just shook his head. "You, though. I'd have never guessed."

"Me either, Benny, trust me," Dean replied, still tense. "Are we going to have a problem with it? Here, around, in general? I'm not up for causing any trouble – you know that." He added quickly.

Benny shook his head again, squinting over at Dean as they walked down the jagged path, sunlight dappling over their heads. "No, man. There's no problem. You don't treat us different, why should we treat you different?"

Dean's tension melted. He nodded in relief, finding a smile on his lips.

Benny thought a minute. "If the boys ask, what do you want me to tell them?"

"Tell them whatever you want, brother, I don't have anything to hide," Dean said honestly. "I'm not out to get anybody and I haven't changed. I'm still the same guy you met this year. Just… different. A little." Benny nodded in agreement, and nudged his shoulder before bidding him good-bye and taking a separate path to the bottom of campus, where his dorm building was. He vanished through the trees as Dean began to head down to the road. It was a long walk back to his own building.

So Benny had been entirely cool with it. Dean buzzed with happiness, each spring in his step reloaded with elation as he strode along the asphalt. He had an ally. Another ally. Bobby, and now Benny… probably Garth soon, and even Samandriel, although he wasn't as close. Who else? He racked his brain. Maybe he'd find out sooner than later.

Climbing the steps to his building, he unlocked the door and pushed his way inside and headed to his dorm room. The halls weren't as empty as they usually were. A few kids floated here and there, laughing and talking, or on the phone. Dean nodded to them as he passed and got weird looks, which wasn't unusual. A few jocks were laughing when he passed but he didn't assume it was about anyone he knew.

He was about to turn a corner when a hand grabbed his elbow. Turning in alarm, Dean saw it was just Samandriel, hovering like a ghost behind a crowd of kids. "What's up, Sam?" Dean questioned curiously.

"It's Castiel," Samandriel replied quickly, glancing Dean up and down. "He got into it with a kid in his art class today. They fought over Cas being gay. This kid just exploded all over him, and Cas got him back, but Castiel ran off – and he wasn't in any of his other classes." He clenched his jaw. "The news spread like wildfire. It's all over the school. Everybody knows about it, Dean. Everybody."

Dean stared at him. "What?" He blurted.

"Everybody knows you two are gay," Samandriel hissed, whispering now.

All the blood drained from Dean's face. "Oh." He wheezed.

Teachers. Girls. Other guys… all of the other guys. It was like the floor opened up beneath him and flung him through a portal into space. His lungs were squeezed. His entire body felt lighter, and empty, like he was drifting. Dizziness washed over him and at once his heart cried out for him to bolt. "Thanks, Sam. K-Keep an eye out, ok?" He managed, and shook Sam's arm gratefully before turning to walk as quickly as possible to his room. The pity in the other boy's eyes was genuine as he melted back into the crowd.

Fumbling with the keycard, Dean pushed the gently buzzing door open and threw his stuff aside, shutting the door carefully behind him. He went right to Cas's bed, where his roommate was sitting with his forehead against the wall and his legs crossed, blankets and pillows mounded around him. "Cas," he voiced with gentle worry. "I'm so sorry, buddy."

"You heard?" Came the deep monotone.

Biting his lip, Dean sat beside him on the bed, legs dangling off the side. Then he reached over the blankets and put his warm hand on Cas's thigh. "I heard." He replied quietly. "I wish I coulda been there for you."

"It's fine. I'm fine." Castiel sat back and rubbed his face wearily. "Everyone knows?"

Dean nodded hesitantly. "Yes."

"God," Cas choked unexpectedly, and for the first time Dean looked over, and could see the roughness of his eyes and nose, the blotchy white and red patches on his cheeks. He'd been killing himself over this since this morning.

Dean's heart throbbed. "Cas," he whispered, moving his hand to Cas's other shoulder and pulling him in. Like a crumbling building Castiel crumpled into his lap, and they sat in silence, Dean's paint stained fingers running through Cas's soft black hair and the gravity of the situation sinking into both of them… slowly but surely.

* * *

_The site is not allowing me to enter new chapters into the Doc Manager. I am currently resolving that problem, but until then bear with me patiently. _


	42. Shaken

_Got it._

* * *

Dean decided to take Castiel out for dinner. Neither of them wanted to be on campus when the rumors of their sexual activity was running rampant, and both of them needed a well cooked meal and some time away from school and work. Castiel called in sick to his job and they climbed into the Impala and drove away from the college at top speed. Leaning out the window, dark hair flying, Cas pushed his face into the wind and let it whip color back into his cheeks. Dean watched him with sadness and a heaviness in his heart. He drove fast to give Cas a better breeze, cruising around bends and on long dusty roads between a sloping cow farm and a sprawling lake, letting the countryside distract them. The soothing smell of the nature-scented air helped.

They chose an Italian restaurant in the tiny town that everyone gushed over. A Sicilian man owned it, his exotic accent just another flourish to the simple but comfortable little place. Of course, Cas demanded he pay, because Dean's money was from his older life with his dad – stealing and fake credit cards – so Dean backed down and let him. They slid into the chairs of a two-seating table up against the window. It was mostly empty – old men sat at the bars groaning about their farms over beers, and the pregnant waitress was counting receipts.

The owner came over to be their waiter, and gave them menus and took their drink orders. Then he slid away and Cas looked over at his lover with a sigh. "What are we gonna do, Dean?" He asked quietly.

"Nothing, that's what," Dean looked at the menu and picked what he wanted, folding it shut. "We're gonna do what we're doing now. Go to class, do our work, and mind our own business."

Cas shut his menu with a snap. "Dean, they'll rip us apart. We can't just-" He protested angrily.

"Yes, we can," Dean interrupted pointedly, looking up at him. Castiel fell frustratingly silent. "Cas, we're not doing anything wrong. You and me - we're happy. Aren't we?"

Cas blinked rapidly, clenching his jaw and stifling his protests. He nodded in defeat.

Dean returned it. "We don't owe anybody anything except prudish politeness in public. Hell, we don't even owe them that. But the more we react, the worse it'll get." Cas stared at him, irritation itching his skin, and Dean stared back. "We've got _nothing_ to hide; nothing.

"If we just live our lives like we been doing it'll be damn clear we're not ashamed of what we do. And we aren't. If they catch us being weak, it'll be like admitting we think what they do." He reached over and took Cas's hands, squeezing his fingers. "I love you. It's who I am."

Castiel bent his head between bowed shoulders, and squeezed Dean's fingers crushingly. An empathetic nod bobbed from his chin.

Dean clenched his jaw. "Cas, look at me, please," he whispered, and was obliged with stormy blues. "I am here for you. If anyone gives you any more trouble, we will handle it. If anyone bothers me, I will handle it." He softened his tone. "All right?" Cas's lips were pressed into a thin line. The chaos in his strong hands and the grip with which he held fast onto Dean's were conflicted. "Why do we need a plan of attack, or defense, even?" Dean pressed on. "We just need a short explanation. Something to give to everyone and anyone who asks. Short and sweet; something that'll cover everything. That's all we owe anyone at the damn place - and anywhere else, for that matter."

"…Dean." Cas's eyes softened just so.

Cracking a smile, Dean soaked in those baby blues. "We hit it off when I first moved into town, felt something more going on a few months later, and we've been officially together… three weeks. How's that sound?" Castiel just nodded, smiling, and Dean rubbed Cas's knuckles with his thumb. "Good. Don't sweat it, Cas. We can handle the heat together. You and me. To the end of the line."

They ate in peace and split a cannoli at the end of the night, and sat back in their chairs drinking and talking about everything. People came and went. No one gave them second glances. Cas swirled his ice and Dean sat back with his bow legs knocked open casually. Their low tones mixed and morphed. Mostly they talked alcohol and houses and family, and Dean's version of it, and how broken everything was because his mother died. Dean and sighed as he recounted how his entire life had been spent in motels and the back of the Impala. Castiel let it sink in. A man who wanted family but had never had one to speak of. Well, he had. He knew. Cas explained the family dynamic, how well it had worked until his sister died, and how to maintain it; it turned into a very drawn-out topic. Soon they were naming colors they wanted on the walls, and how many rooms, and how many windows in their house there would be.

Slowly, their hesitation – their iron-heavy chains – fell away. Their smiles became natural. Hands moved with emphasis, sparks igniting hope in their battered faces. They tossed back and forth tid-bits of protest against little things as they knocked back the last of their drinks and let their minds wander and their words trail off. Images filled their heads.

Cas saw Dean drinking a beer on the porch, their porch, the light of the sunset dancing over his clothes worn from a day's work around the house. He pictured kissing the line of his jaw flushed in orange glow with a languid affection; the kind bred from contentment, earned from hard work, and determination. He felt the cold steel of a kitchen bowl in his hands and the water running down his hands as he pressed a compress to the forehead of a man heaving with fever and nausea. He felt the sponge bruising his knuckles as he scrubbed away the evidence. The delicacy of the pills rolling around in his roughed up hands as he knelt by his lover and offered him a perspiring glass of water to wash them down. He saw a child wrapped up in bed and crying softly and felt the rush of sadness and love as he sank down beside them and ran his fingers through their hair calmingly.

Dean saw himself building something; a house. A well. A porch. He felt the heat on his shoulders and steeped himself in sweat. Then he dropped his shovel and sank into the steps in the shade and lifted his eyes and looked through the window - of _his_ house – to see _his _family. _His_ love. _His _kids. He rubbed the sweat from his face and gripped the handrail of the porch and gripped it so tight they the sweat sponged into the porous wood and he knew then that it was his. All of it. He gripped the porch until his bleeding palms stained the paint. He remembered the slight children; the flunked papers and the tears and the night terrors. He remembered getting his shotgun and pulling a chair in front of their closet and sitting humming _Smoke in the Water_ until they were fast asleep. He imagined falling into warm, rough hands at night and kissing sweet lips goodnight.

And across the table, Castiel reached out and Dean reached out to Dean. They twined fingers loosely in the shadows, cast by the dim figures shifting and creating a low roar of noise around them.

In the car on the way back to the college, Dean's phone rang. He flipped it out as he drove, frowning, and Castiel beside him glanced over in surprise as he pressed it to his ear. "Yeah, Sammy, what's up?"

_"Dean, why does everybody suddenly know you and Cas are a couple?"_

"Something happened today. We didn't really make it a thing, it was… an altercation." He explained. "Why?"

_"An altercation?" _Shuffling noises, almost like Sam was moving boxes and opening windows, echoed through the phone speaker.

Dean glanced over at Cas. The memories of the day were blossoming back into in his eyes and drawing the life from them. "Cas had a kid yell at him about it. In the middle of class."

_"Wow. Anyone go missing after that?"_

"No, no, they both left without fighting and Cas doesn't want me to maim the guy."

_"Too bad. You two holding up ok?"_

Sighing, Dean cradled the phone with his shoulder and took the steering wheel in that hand, reaching his other over to rest on Cas's thigh. "Yeah, we're ok." Cas's hand settled over his own. "Everybody knows now. But besides that we're peachy."

_"Hope it stays that way. It's even become a bit of a thing where I am, too. Keep an eye out for anything weird going on – I'm not sure why, but these guys are getting riled over it."_

"Who?"

_"The fraternities. Not mine; we're sort of a Christian fraternity, but we don't get involved in anything that would…" _He cleared his throat over the line awkwardly, and the shuffling ceased entirely.

The silent pause was unnerving. "Sammy? Involved in what?"

_"…Anything that would hurt people," _Sam explained._ "Hazing. Destroying property. Burning things to the ground. Rough stuff; you know college kids. I don't want to say someone is coming for you guys - but I don't know for sure. I want you to be prepared in case they are."_

"Are you saying some guys are so pissed over us coming out, that they wanna gank us?" Dean demanded. Beside him Cas paled.

_"Sort of. Maybe not kill you, just scare you guys."_

Dean stared out the windshield. "You're not serious."

_"Dead serious. They're pissed, Dean, and I don't know why. And scared kids get dangerous."_

"Well thanks for the warning, we'll keep an eye out for assholes with spray paint cans."

_"Dean, don't take this lightly. These guys don't know what they're doing but they think it's what needs to be done. If you see anything, call me. I'll hitch a ride over there with my pals and help you out ASAP. No exceptions. All right?"_

"Yeah, ok. Thanks again, Sammy." Dean replied somberly.

_"Watch out for yourselves."_

Dean clicked the phone shut and pushed it back into his pocket, reaching back over to rest his hand on Cas's thigh. He sighed. "Sam's college got wind of it, too."

"Damn," Castiel whispered beside him in despair. "What's going on, Dean?"

"The frat brothers think we need a reminder of what's what around here. That or they just hate anything that isn't drinking or hanging off a stripper pole."

"What do we do?"

"Lock ourselves in the room and pray they're not serious."


	43. Trying for Peace

Dean stepped out of the Impala, boot grinding asphalt, and glanced around. His shadow cast by the lamppost nearby was stark black beneath him. During the day wherever you go - but especially at college - you were safer from the public wrath by the all-seeing eye of daylight. Prying eyes prowled the suspicious and diligent hearts protected the weak from altercation. People were much more righteous during the day – or the people with the most righteous justice in their hearts were awake then.

But at night the righteous went to bed. Locked their doors. Shut their blinds, and pulled their blankets up to their noses. Because at night was when the weirdos and the wild and the pent-up came out and the dark took courage in the shadows. And there is no righteous mercy in them when they're cloaked in the night.

The college came to life after hours. The slogging, shuffling, weary students were alive - electrified with their neon sneakers and their glowing eyes. Grins glittered on their lips and the snatch of their laughter was loose and flimsy and bitter at the edges, knowing they had class in the morning but choosing to not care for a few more hours. They wandered in groups around parking lots and sidewalks and their Ebonics echoed off the buildings. Some jogged around with basketballs, bouncing them off of their friends' cars until they found one with an alarm; when the shriek of noise pierced the night they would run off, laughing and shouting and vanishing into the night. Kids sang their favorite hip-hop songs loudly and off key, accentuating the cussing as much as they thought would make their friends laugh. Some threw dirt and food and cans the windows of their buddies to summon them to their night of terror.

The righteous slept on, blessed with earplugs and box fans turned to the highest setting, blissfully ignoring - even with windows open to the weather and noises alike.

Dean held out his arm when Cas came around the car to him, and took his elbow protectively. "Let's get inside." He said in a low voice, and Cas just nodded tensely, following him on the way to their building. Heart pounding, Dean's radar blazed to life with vigor; each pair of suspicious eyes, hovering bodies, concealed carriers; all were noted. He scanned everyone and everything for a threat, the press of foreign terrors bringing back his hunting instincts. Often it plagued him during the day while walking to class or even in class itself. A pair of shifty eyes would set him off. Or a flicker of light in someone's eyes would alert him. But it was always, always nothing. His jumpiness never came to fruition. So he had turned it down best he could to continue to live here in peace. Paintball helped. So did driving. But the night was his territory – his fears. His childhood flashing back.

They made their way into the building to a throng of kids in baggy clothes and backwards ball caps, the smoke from their cigarettes like a cloud they pushed through. Their low chuckles followed their backs as they slid through the doors and shut both firmly behind them. Dean glanced over his shoulder as Cas retreated down the hall. Then, licking his lips, he continued, following his roommate closely.

People were laughing loudly in the halls. Their plans for the night could easily be overheard. Alcohol brands, girls' names, which cars to drive over and who with. Dean slid passed them, his eyes darting to the dark hair in front of him. Everything felt like a trap. Each corner gave him shudders. His hands twitched and curled into fists at each strange look and each obnoxious gesture.

When they were finally back in their room, Dean pushed passed Cas and went to the window, shutting and locking it down. Then he put down the blinds. He hovered there a moment with his fingers pushing down a blind to peer out. His knit eyebrows were dark. His jaw was taunt. A line of light spilled over his eyes and the bridge of his nose, pale and slanted.

"Dean," Cas slid his hand onto the man's shoulder, squeezing it. "That door is made of metal, and we're on the second floor. We'll be fine."

"Yeah," Dean murmured. His worry was palpable. A gentle intake of breath came from behind him. Arms encircled his waist, hands pushed along the material of his shirt, and a body pressed against his own, weakening his knees.

Castiel pressed his nose into Dean's neck and breathed him in. He hummed softly. "I feel safer just being by you." He tightened his grip. "The closer the better."

Dean melted. He tilted his head back a bit to touch his cheek to Cas's, sighing out all his tension through his nose. "You are. I'm the best protection there is."

Castiel pushed his hands under Dean's shirt and over his hot belly and chest. "Maybe if we shut off the lights, they won't know we're here," he said lowly into Dean's ear. His every touch send waves of endorphins through the ex-hunter. When the hands slid away, Dean drew drunkenly from his trance and turned to take Castiel's chin in his hand gingerly. He kissed him with a warm, hot finality, before going to turn off the lights. Once darkness fell they were together almost at once. Slow, hungry hands, savoring each inch of skin they grasped; easy, loving kisses, a nip to the lip here and there. Dean put his arms around Castiel and hugged him so tightly that his strong arms resembled fortress walls. They fell onto Dean's bed like this.

Cas pushed his hands under Dean's shirt and sank into his warmth. They chuckled and their nerves manifested into a fierce need for closeness, subtly encompassing them. Every fingertip had a dose of it. Every lick and bite. They clung onto each other with insatiable ferocity, entirely clothed, until the pressure of the day had them both drifting away. In a tangle of arms and legs they fell asleep. Breast to breast. Hip to hip. Nose to cheek.

A few days went. Their details were all so similar that spreading them out and explaining each separately will be seen as superfluous. As such, they went like this: the couple rose and agreed to a plan and went about their business. They went to each class, and ate each meal, and took notes, completely silent. Not a word was exchanged. Only brief touches – locked fingers on the way to dinner together, in the hall when they passed, or a kind glance when passing on the sidewalk. They only spoke in short to their friends at meals and to their teachers in class.

Benny was determined to make sure Dean felt like nothing had changed and the rugby team was only a little uncomfortable, mostly getting into the swing of normality without a fuss. People watched and pointed at him and whispered in the cafeteria, but Dean only sat across the table from Benny and exchanged homework questions and smiles with the amiable group he shared. He even invited them to dinner to meet Cas. Which was a great success. They teased the dark haired male until he was grinning and welcomed with open arms. So far, not so bad.

Bobby, the two days he had Dean in class, would always give him worried glances. He saw the kids snickering in the back row. He watched as Dean pushed sticky notes covered in slander off his desk and his notebooks when he got back from the bathroom. Not a single reaction phased through him. He sat and watched and wrote and sighed to himself gently. His eyes were guarded by iron bars. Each touch Dean lay on the world was calculated; this was entirely unlike him – but he was doing it for Castiel, and everyone knew, so no one questioned him. Especially Bobby. He was proud of the kid.

A few times, they were approached. Castiel was washing his hands in the men's room before a class and had been questioned roughly by one of his former friends. It had taken a lot of calming before he'd convinced him that he had never been out to get him. Dean had been laughed at by some girls in his class, even. Some of his friends stopped talking, or even looking, at him. The men just avoided them entirely. For some reason, everyone thought gay guys were thinking of sexing all their guy friends. Which was, of course, ridiculous. A number of them were held no physical attraction in the least to Castiel or Dean. Didn't mean they didn't like them as people.

So far, so good. No frat boys had come knocking. They'd gotten pushed around and shouted at on their own hall but Dean had handled that easy. "We're not peekin' in your doors and windows at night and watching you sleep," he'd retorted. "We're not stalkers or creepers, we're just together. It's got nothing to do with anybody else." After getting some grumbles and slammed doors in reply it had been settled. The guys on their floor didn't protest any further.

Just to be safe, Dean and Cas continued to shower together, but only at odd hours. Five, when everyone was either at practice or dinner, or even late at night. Eleven. Twelve. Only once did anyone walk in on them, and Cas had hidden, so that when they were glanced in on, it was only Dean that was seen scrubbing his hair. So they didn't cause and scenes or blow anything out of proportion. This earned them points with the general population – and the scorn didn't die down, but the protests did. That was a start. People mostly ignored them or muttered behind their backs now.

It was next week. The weekend had come, and gone, with Cas choosing to work overtime to earn some more cash for their own car. After giving the Impala back to Sam, Dean had convinced Cas to let him cash out some stolen money for their own car, but he wanted it to only be half. Half had to be hard earned cash.

It was a Monday afternoon. After another round of name calling and laughter in the café. Castiel climbed into the Impala behind Dean, buckling into the middle seat with Sam behind the wheel, and they pulled out of the parking lot. The couple breathed a sigh of relief to be away. Even for a brief evening.

"So, how much have you guys got so far?" Sam asked. They were headed to a for-sale lot, where people parked their cars to be seen publically. A few of them looked affordable. If not, Dean was adamant about using stolen cash, because those cars weren't worth that much good money.

"We've got about $4,000," Dean replied. "Cash money."

"Nice." Sam nodded approvingly. "That should get you something."

Castiel nodded, leaning his elbows on his knees as he looked out the window. "We're hoping." He sighed. "All that hype with those fraternities last week, Sam; we haven't seen a trace of them anywhere." Frowning, he rubbed his hands together. "Are you sure they were angry?"

"Very," Sam sighed. "I went through their treasurer's files, and found a lot of weird stuff. I think they're planning right now. You're not the only gay couples around – but you are the most public."

"That's saying something." Castiel mumbled.

"Planning? For what?" Dean looked at his brother, squinting at him in irritation. "What could they possibly think they can do? Cut off our dicks?"

"Dean," Cas protested softly.

"No, nothing like that," Sam replied nervously. "I don't think so, anyway. But I don't know. They don't write their stuff down, it's all word of mouth. And I don't know anyone in those fraternities. They're a bunch of assholes. I really don't know what they're capable of. But… we have no way to prepare for it if we don't know what it is."

"The best we're gonna do is pretend like everything is fine, and I'm going to carry my .99 mil on my hip until we graduate," Dean grumbled. They fell silent, the car rumbling along, and he fidgeted, wishing he was the one manning the wheel. At least it would take his mind of the two of them being in such unknown danger. That and Sam always did the speed limit.


	44. Truth

As Castiel glided off to pick out cars in the open lot, Dean frowned at the sky, seeing heavy rain clouds and hearing distant thunder. With the taste of rain in the breeze it brought back memories from the accident that made him shiver. Beside him Sam glanced about, squinting. "So," he cleared his throat. "How much have you told Cas?" They were the only people in the lot. The buildings looked older and dark, although there was movement behind the desk that they could spy through a large window.

"About?" Dean questioned, picking a direction and walking in it. How many chicks he'd fucked? How many he'd left? How useless he was at taxes?

"About… dad. Our lives. Everything," Sam offered.

Dean walked up to a Sunbird and stared at his reflection in the window, clenching his jaw. When he'd first arrived he had stuck with the cover story of being in pest control. He hadn't told anyone, let alone Castiel, that he'd hunted ghosts and demons and monsters for a living. He wanted to make him think he was living in a safe world for a while longer. Making him aware of the danger they had faced daily was something that weighed on his mind. But as long as he was around to protect him, he figured Cas would be ok. Sighing, he looked up at Sam, shrugging. "Not much," he admitted. "I told him we had to do some shady stuff to get by sometimes, but otherwise he doesn't know."

"Ah." Sam grimaced. "Do you…?"

"Yes, I plan to," Dean snapped. "I just… don't know how. I don't want to, you know? He's got enough to worry about."

Sam nodded gently. "I know." He put his hand on Dean's shoulder. "He's in it, though, with you. With us. You know that. You probably should let him know what you've really been doing for the past fourteen years."

Shrugging him off, Dean nodded, and angled himself to stalk back towards where Cas was. He didn't want to talk about it to Sam. His brother didn't get it. He'd been a monster hunter - a freak among freaks. At twelve he could've taken down a fully grown man. The muscles he'd built taunt shifted and ached from lack of use beneath his jacket, and every sense he had was flooded with edge teenager body language and too-dark corners he passed. This must be like what paranoid people feel like. And he was paranoid. But he was also damn good at his old job.

Sam was just flirting with some Jess girl. He'd never been in a relationship like this. Castiel was just a guy, he wasn't a fighter or a hardened hunter. He was built strong but he hadn't played a sport let alone fought off anything bigger than him in years. Every time Dean pictured him, he saw him sitting in his desk chair like when they'd first met, all lanky arms and soft blue eyes and a shy draw to his shoulders. He needed to be protected.

Walking up to Castiel, who was peering into a Ford Pinto, he couldn't help but smile. "Not that one. We're gonna go Chevy." He spoke up.

The dark haired male lifted his head and his curious gaze struck Dean, a shifting, royal blue rolling around in his irises. As it always did, it surprised him with the level of love behind it. The soft determination in the knit of his brow and the purse of his lips turned on Dean. "What do you suggest?" He asked curiously, his deep, gravelly monotone like music to his lover's ears. He'd let Dean get at Castiel again with a razor to get rid of the stubble he'd gathered over the week – clean shaven, jaw line chiseled, hair combed; he was damn striking.

Not to mention he had decided to wear his new clothing out in regular life, since he always had spares to wear to work, and today he looked very trim. Khaki skinny jeans, bunching up around his ankles and the worn black boots beneath them, hugged his waist at a low rise. A navy blue t-shirt with a curling white design of clockwork was beneath a thick canvas button down, a deep, dark gray. The collar was pressed and overall it was amazing how free of wrinkles he'd turned out to be. Overall the nice clothes helped deflect some animosity from other people. A sharp dressed man was always respected a bit more than a tousled novelty-tee addict.

Dean itched to rip the nice clothes off him, kiss him, hug him crushingly tight, or just stand and stare at him for hours. Although he himself had been wearing the same stuff for a few years, it was all canvas shirts that never went out of style and blank t-shirts and work boots. That was fine with him, it was what he liked. That and seeing Cas like this. He couldn't suppress a loving grin from blooming onto his face. "A truck." He replied.

Walking him over to a corner, Dean pointed out a 70s pickup that looked polished and practically new. It was baby blue, with a thick, neatly painted white stripe all around the center. Dean had researched this place before they came. Sam was looking into the window of the truck for the mileage and Castiel tilted his head affectionately. "I like it," he agreed easily, "Are you sure?"

Dean thought about what his dad would think. Not enough horse power, no place for the guns, too soft, too obvious. Paint it black. Cover the back. Tune it up. Buff out the rust spots, change the tires, premium gas only, so it runs well on long trips. His heart gathered in a dark cloud. But all that stuff was for their old life – hunting, outrunning things, toting weapons and salt and holy water… This life, the one he had now, was taking Cas to and from work, and winding lazily down narrow back roads on a beautiful summer day. He looked at Castiel instead of the truck and met his placid gaze with his own and the cloud scattered and vanished. A smile touched his lips. "Yeah. I'm sure."

As they paid the dealer, Dean stared at Cas's perfect bills, fresh from the bank, and then looked at his rumpled stack of $20s. "Cas, did you earn all that at work?" He asked.

"No," Castiel replied. "I've been saving for a year or so, doing odd jobs. Some of it is from my parents. They want to make sure we have a car." When the man took the money and left, Dean smiled at him.

"You mean you, right?" He tested.

"No, us. My parents… they've gotten used to the idea of us together." Cas blushed a bit, biting his lip and putting away his wallet. "I, of course, would not pressure that the car have both our names on the contract. I don't wish you to be obligated-"

"Cas." Dean interrupted. He reached over and pulled him close with as much subtlety as possible in a big open dealership, touching his lips to his cheek with one light motion. "I'm not going anywhere and neither are you. Where you go, I go. The truck is ours." Pushing his cheek against Dean's shyly, Castiel nodded in silent relief, reaching out and grasping Dean's jacket with shaking fingers. A desperate 'thank you' communicated between them. He'd been scared Dean would agree, and when it was over between them, take the truck and his heart, too, if he left.

It was a promise, then. Dean laid it down and Castiel would hold him to it. Together, the both of them. They hovered together, looking over the paperwork, hips touching and hands and shoulders brushing as they did. Everything looked all right. They would pay it in full, which would be great for Cas's credit, and use the leftover for insurance. The dealer brought them the last papers to sign, and they handed them back perfectly finished. A key dropped into Dean's hand.

"She's all yours, boys," the older man winked. "Got about a quarter tank of gas in her. That'll get you to school and back here in no time – but you may want to fill her up before then."

Sam and Dean and Cas thanked the man and crowded around the truck. They pulled the sign out of the window and looked it over and popped the hood one more time before Castiel climbed into the driver's seat and marveled at the big steering wheel. Bench seat, dark blue leather interior. The radio worked and there was no CD player but they could fix that. He scooted over to let Dean drive, both of them buckled in, and the roar of the engine filled their ears. Sam laughed and waved good-bye, telling them to call if they needed anything else. Then they parted ways.

The truck drove like a dream, and as the Impala turned a corner and vanished, Dean gripped the steering wheel and looked out from his perch in his new truck and was riding cloud nine. Being your own man; step one, get a relationship; step two, get your own car; step three... Get your own place. Maybe he'd look at apartments in Colorado for after they graduated. He'd always wanted to live in Colorado. His head was buzzing with hopeful thoughts as Castiel sat watching him from the passenger's side, his dark was head against the big window, and a heart-warming smile was in his eyes.


	45. Danger

Dean drove Castiel to work. He came back to the dorm building and Samandriel caught him in the hallway, asking him questions about homework. He asked about the new truck, too, and Dean laughed, dangling the keys. Sam just laughed and pushed his shoulder. They parted shortly after. Dean finished his homework, and went to pick him up again at nine. He was happier and happier with the truck as he drove it. It was loud and rumbly, which he loved, and the back window was easy to open. He got a nice cross draft with it. Leaning his arm out the window, he sighed and smiled, smoothing it around turns. It was a bit jerky, but it just hadn't been run in a few weeks, so it would catch back up. He'd refueled when he dropped Cas off so she had a nice full tank of 89 too.

It had rained while he was doing homework, so the road and hills glistened with it. The darkness of the evening was a bit heavier because of the cloud cover but everything was still and cool and hummed with happy grasshoppers and frogs. The air was crisp and humid and he breathed it in deeply. Going through the busy part of town, he slid into the parking lot of the paint shop and picked a parking spot. He pushed in the e-brake and put it in park and shut off the truck. Like he did every night, he got out of the truck, going inside the shop with an easy gait. Sometimes Cas ran a bit late – Dean had found his boss to be amiable, so they usually chatted a bit before Castiel was finished with his work.

Dean leaned against the empty counter inside. Hearing voices, he glanced towards an aisle to see the manager giving a pitch to a new couple. No chat, then. He shrugged and looked towards the doors in the back. Castiel usually came out of there. His trench coat over his arm, his hair mussed, cheeks flushed. He was really good at what he did – he picked all the right hues for the colors they needed sorted and put them in all the right places. It was the job of the other two guys who worked with him, John and Wayne, but Castiel always got the least lectures from their boss when a customer had to return a wrong color.

Tonight, Castiel burst through the doors and ran smack into Dean at a run, which kicked Dean's instincts on high. He grabbed Cas by the shoulders worriedly. "What is it, what's wrong?" He asked sharply, assuming the worst. He'd torn out of there like a bat out of hell. You didn't do that unless you were running from something, or someone.

Castiel was shocked to have crashed into him. He stared at Dean, frozen, with wide eyes brimmed with red. They swam with emotion. "I-I-" His Adam's apple bobbed. "It's nothing, I'm fine." He managed, flustered, and sniffed like he was suppressing something. He stepped back from Dean.

"You don't look fine." Dean pushed, eager to get to the root of his problem.

Castiel gave him an irritated look. His eyes darted to his boss and the customers, who were staring. "I said I was fine, Dean," he said tartly. "Can we go?"

The look of seething pain on his face made Dean's fear hit a wall. He swallowed. "Yeah. Yeah, of course." Cas ducked outside haughtily. With one last glance at the back door, seeing two curious faces pressed to the glass window, Dean frowned and followed him. What the hell would make him act like this? Did he get ridiculed, did something try and hurt him? He didn't look roughed up. Just… a mix of a lot of bad things all at once.

Castiel was in the truck, hunched, staring at his shoes when Dean shut his door and looked over. "Cas," he tried again, "Are you-"

"Dean," Cas warned. "Not right now. Just… Just give me a minute. Can we go eat?"

"Wh… Sure, all right." Dean conceded. Puzzled and frustrated he pulled off and began to head for an all-night diner. The fifteen minute ride was mostly silent. Castiel was staring out the window and pressed entirely against his side of the truck. Dean would glance over every now and then, hoping for a glimpse of something, but he was getting nothing from the chicken. They pulled into the diner and Cas was inside before Dean had shut his door. Exasperated, he followed close behind, sliding in across from Cas at the booth he'd chosen. It was the only one facing away from the small crowd at the bar laughing and making a lot of noise. "Cas, what's going on with you?" Dean asked as he glanced around. "Since when are you hungry at night?"

"Samandriel is dead." Castiel blurted, looking him full in the face.

Dean paled considerably. Everything seemed to pause in time. The clock on the wall stopped ticking. Every thought he was having froze and shattered like ice on asphalt. "E… Excuse me?" He stammered out. "Dead? I just saw him, he literally just asked me about homework we had-"

"Dean," Cas snapped, angrily. Then he lowered his voice. "My mother called me at work. She told me his parents reported him missing months ago, and his body was found last night in a cemetery crypt. It was all over the news." His blue eyes were cold and hard. "She wanted to ask if I was going to his funeral."

The words pouring out of his mouth were like a foreign language. None of that made sense. He'd known Samandriel for a few weeks now, he was just some guy who went to school with Cas. Right? It was like a hole was torn in Dean's heart and it sucked him inside. "No." He whispered. The blonde hair. The bright eyes. The shy shuffle of his feet. I mean, he was a really nice kid, he couldn't be…? Samandriel? Dead? Months missing. A body. Even worse than dead, could it be that the Samandriel Dean knew wasn't… real?

"Dean, please tell me you didn't lie about Samandriel," Cas demanded fiercely, "how did you know about him? How did you know he liked me, and why did you make me think he was living there? Right beside us? How could you-"

"Cas," Dean interrupted his ranting with a swift hand motion, which let the dark haired male lapse into a hurt, furious silence. His eyes screamed with it. "Please, Cas, I need to call Sam. It's urgent. I'll be right back, ok? Don't go anywhere. Please." Castiel stared at him hard, his eyes flickering angrily, and Dean's terrified but calm ones did nothing but make them more desperate. Making a 'stay' motion tentatively, Dean slid out of the booth and slid into the men's room, locking the door behind him. His phone flipped into his hand like lightning and before long it was ringing and he was pacing the linoleum.

_"Dean?"_ Came Sam's fuzzy voice over the line.

"Sam," Dean hissed, "We got a problem, a big problem – a fuckin' huge problem." His voice echoed around the bathroom, bouncing off the walls and doors and windows, and filling his ears with different shades of his own shaking voice.

_"What the hell happened?"_

"Samandriel. The kid who lives beside us in our building. Or did. Or I thought he did, anyway. He's a damn monster, Sammy. His body was found on the news this morning." When he rambled the shades of his voice rambled, too; they filled his head with nonsensical garble.

_"Did he get killed today in an accident? That doesn't exactly-"_

"No, Sammy, you don't get it," Dean made a noise of frustration that echoed. "His parents reported him missing _months_ ago! Months! I've been talking to a _monster_ for two damn weeks!"

A shocked pause. _"Are you sure, Dean? I mean it couldn't be someone else or-"_

"OF COURSE I'M SURE - EVERYTHING WAS LEGIT, SAM."

_"Ok, ok! I'm on my way to campus."_

"No! We're at the diner, I'm taking Cas back to his parents. I'll meet you back here in twenty."

_"What? Why?"_

"We don't know what it is, let alone how to kill it. Hit the web when you get here, Sammy, 'cause we got a case on our hands." Hanging up, Dean unlocked the door and shot out, looking wildly for Castiel. The smothering sound of his own voice died. But when he stepped around the crowd, he saw their booth standing empty. Castiel was gone. "Dammit!" Dean swore loudly, alarming the other customers. He was gone too quickly for anyone to ask questions. Stalking up and down the sidewalk - checking for footprints, a gum wrapper, anything to lead him to his lover – Dean felt his chest caving in. He found nothing. The truck was empty, and there was no sign of Cas anywhere. He had run off. And there was a monster running loose with a crush on him.

* * *

_John and Wayne aren't bs names, by the way. My friend and his brother are in this story as (unimportant)fluffy morons._


	46. Rift

First he was fuming. How could Dean say something like that? How could he lie right to his face? Samandriel was dead. He was dead. Castiel covered his face. _Oh, God..._ His entire body was jumping with nerves. Anxiety pumped through his veins like poison ivy, making him itch for motion. An image of Samandriel's mangled body burned like a brand on his eyelids. There was a killer on the loose. Then he was getting to his feet. He couldn't stay here and listen to any more lies. He needed air. He needed to get away from everyone and everything. Stalking out, he passed the truck angrily. Then he realized Dean would follow him; then he was running.

Castiel ran so quickly that the entire town flashed by, like a blur; its lights flickered and the crumbling sidewalks rapped beneath his shoes. The worn buildings watched with quiet worry as he sprinted across the dark street and swung around a thick oak tree, sliding down into the short ravine. His shoes sank into soft mud but he was moving still. He climbed the other side and stepped onto the soccer field of the high school, taking long strides to cross it. The fresh air shocked his mind, but did not clear it. He was still blind with the need to bolt. Pushing through the frigid night he crossed the entire field and picked a logical direction to sanctuary. He stepped into the woods behind the field, continuing onwards. He knew this way. He'd known it his whole life – this was his town, his school, his forest. It closed around him like welcoming arms.

One of his hands jerked at his side and a stray branch sliced it open. Hissing, Castiel looked down at the blood creeping from the wound and spilling over his fingers. What else was Dean lying about? His life? His brother? He fumbled and wrapped his blue tie tightly around the cut so that the cheap blue was tainted with a raging and red stain spreading over its coarse material. With a flare to his nostrils and anger in his eyes, he kept gliding through the trees. Maybe he _was_ lying about other things. Maybe he wasn't. Cas didn't understand yet, and he was too angry to want to understand.

Using the rest of the tie as a lasso, he hooked a sapling and stepped over a short drop in the ground with a trickling stream at the bottom. Branches and twigs bent back from Castiel as he pressed along the narrow footpath through the thick foliage. He shoved aside leaves and bushes and ducked under fallen logs until he reached the base of a large grassy hill on the other side. He lifted his eyes. A church sat perched at the top. The road leading to it was long and winding, and could not be easily found in the dark.

He stumbled upon it and climbed the steep rise to the building. It had two parts; half was a towering church with spires and fine new stained glass windows, where the worship and private prayer was held. It had many polished and sterile rooms rarely used except neatly and with religious intent. The other half was a portion for youth – a gym, a soccer field out back, and two lounge areas connected by a small but well organized library. Castiel went around back. There was a playground there, empty, but comfortable, full of tire shreds instead of gravel or sand as the blanket along the ground. Castiel hopped the short fences of the playground and worked his way to the back of the building. There, he pulled open a door always left open precisely for times just like this.

Everything inside was deathly silent. In churches, things always were. They were holy places. Castiel fumbled for the light switch and flicked it on. It flooded the long, narrow room with light. This common area had a door to the smaller, more private common area, and was covered in thickly cushioned couches and chairs. A large flat screen bolted to the wall on the opposite side of the room was where all of the couches were pointed. A pool table sat unused in the back and there were signs of life all around. Jackets left behind, half-finished Cokes. A tube of lipstick was pushed between the couch and the carpet.

This was where the youth group still gathered. A strong, healthy father of two ran it, with a few other parents who loved their teenagers. They had basketball and soccer matches against each other. They played trust games and babysat and did charity work. It was really a lovely community of kids. As the teenagers grew older, and moved off to college, the ones left behind still at school invited more friends to join until their family was back to full size again.

Castiel himself had come on the distinction to a couple friends for four months or so, when he was a freshman in high school. He'd even gone to a Methodist teen camp with them. But he never felt like he truly belonged anywhere – and being gay ruled out being comfortable in any religious facility - but he had never been struck dead when entering a place of God and he took that as a personal green light to be himself from the man upstairs.

He was never sure what drew him back here. It may have been the isolation. Religion was so personal, so individual; it was between you and God where you wanted to go, why you wanted to live the way you did. And if you felt he was content with your choices, you could indulge in things set about to remind you that He was always watching. That or the symbolism. This was where he had always felt the most accepted – even if he still didn't belong, they had been so kind to him, and given him such good memories, with a family who had genuinely loved him. Even if he left them behind. And here, he felt God's protection would not help nor hinder him, and that's what he craved right now. Neutral ground to think.

Now, he shut the door behind him and went to his favorite couch. It was walled in by all the others, like it always was, so you had to climb over the other ones to sit on it. And even then there was no space for your legs. He threw his vest across a chair and stepped over the other ones and collapsed into the old, huge, soft material of the couch. It settled him deep in its comforting bosom and both let out a sigh. He pushed his face into it and let his anger peter out into hurt and fear.

What, or who, had killed Samandriel? And why? He was an innocent kid. He'd never hurt anyone, or done a cross thing, or even smoked a cigarette in his life. Even Cas had let Martius convince him into smoking once. It only lasted a week; Matrius's athletic coach had chewed him out and made them both quit, but Sam… all he ever did was smile, and offer his help when it wasn't needed, and pester Castiel until he was blue in the face. He never did anything wrong. Being annoying and overly obsessive wasn't a crime, and it shouldn't be. He was just a kid. Had been just a kid.

The emptiness of the room comforted him. It smelled like smiles and laughter and prayer. Castiel shut his eyes and let it drink him in. He let it fill his head and take the impression of his body and folded his arms to protect his head while he lay belly-down on his favorite couch. He just wanted to lie here in lonely peace until his wallowing let him break free of this sudden lethargy. He wanted to be away from the prying eyes of society and just be the helpless, jaded, pathetic human being he was, in the presence of God alone. He didn't hear the approaching footsteps.

"Cassy," came a voice, but Castiel was too bogged down by near-unconsciousness to be startled into moving. Instead he tensed up, frozen in shock. The figure hovering over him reached down and brushed his hair behind his ear, cupping the side of his face that wasn't pressed against the couch. Its tone licked his ear with an eerie familiarity. "You're bleeding," it whispered.


	47. The Only? Ally

"You always get yourself steeped in trouble. I don't possibly see how I can keep this up, Cassy, especially considering you and your little public scandal." A slender-built, dusty-brunette male in his mid-twenties placed an ice pack into Castiel's hurt hand, which was missing the bloody tie and now neatly wrapped with bandages. He was handsome and walked with an edge to his step that was foreign for him. Usually he was so laid back. "It'll numb the pain. Don't be so cheeky." He said sharply, when Castiel gave him a look of irritation at the cold package.

"Balthazar," the blue eyed male said shakily, "Your fraternity is trying to string me up like a trophy." He sat slumped sideways in Balthazar's couch, in his run-down shanty of a house, which he shared with two other drunk college kids. It was empty at the moment except for them. But that was a comfort.

Balthazar sighed, and as he reached to put away the bandages in the cupboard, his thin v-neck t-shirt lifted to show a glimpse of his midriff. "They're your fraternity too. They're angry, Castiel. You've angered the entire family."

Glancing away, Castiel clenched his jaw. "I am not their family. That's why I left."

"You pledged," Balthazar snapped. "You are our brother. Not only do you abandon us for another school entirely, but now you've got a boyfriend you're fucking?"

"Dean is not just some boyfriend!" Castiel cried. "He is _everything_ to me!" He shook his head slowly, face scrunching with emotion. "The things they did to those kids, I… I'm one of them. I was one of them and I just stood there and watched." He looked up. "I couldn't be a part of it then. And I can't stop being who I am. I'm trying to live my life _around _the fact that people think I'm an abomination."

Their eyes locked. A moment of silence stretched. The wind rattled the windows outside, and Cas pictured Dean road-raging all over town looking for him. But he stared through the other male. Guiltily, Balthazar looked away first, washing the blood off his hands at the sink. He strode to the counter by the fridge and got out a bottle of vodka, pushing it into Cas's good hand. "Take a swig. It'll help with the pain; I don't have any Advil."

Castiel still stared at him as he uncapped the bottle and walked away, throwing the bottle cap up and down in his hand. Blue eyes looked at the lip of the bottle before he took a hit, wincing and making a face as it went down burning. "Why are you helping me?" He asked moodily, scraping his tongue against his teeth to rid himself of that sensation.

"Because I know you're just some fairy with a bad rap," Balthazar sat on the counter, knees knocked open, and leaned his elbows on them. Having spotted him running away from the diner on a perimeter check – which all of the frat brothers were doing, apparently tonight was the night they chose to strike – he had decided to exercise mercy on Castiel. Instead of delivering him gift-wrapped to Uriel or Michael he had taken him home and wrapped his wounds and given him some company. "And because I don't want to see you strung up like a trophy. Not all of us agree with Uriel about this, but… everybody else is too scared to challenge him. They're just following orders. I was gung-ho for it too, you know, until I saw you so pathetic."

"Asshole," Castiel snapped, shifting to lean back wearily on the couch cushions as he took another swig of alcohol.

"Well you were face down in a couch. It didn't look like promising moment."

"What do we do now?"

Balthazar rubbed his hands along the tops of his thighs, giving his palms denim burn. "Nothing. They're going to come looking, and find you, and you'll have to get it over with, whatever they want to do. They won't kill you. Just maim you, maybe."

Cas looked at him. "I thought you wanted to help me?"

The soft brown eyes of the other were buried under artfully apathetic brows. "I can't hide you forever. I'll probably get some retribution myself for even hiding you from them this long. We've been on runs since you left work two hours ago, scouring the entire city area. Your lover is probably strung up already."

Paling considerably, Cas looked at the floor, his selfish thoughts evaporating. Dean. He might be hurt. "I shouldn't have left him," he said in a low, rasping tone. "I… I just didn't want to believe he was lying to me, I-"

"Lying to you?" Balthazar questioned.

Looking up, Cas nodded gently. "Samandriel. He supposedly transferred when I did, and lived beside me in our dorm building. I never saw him. He avoided me. But Dean was friends with him – or, he told me all this. But it was a lie. Samandriel went missing months ago. They… They found his body."

"Yeah, that was all over the news," Balthazar whispered. "Uriel decided to make this run early when he heard. It did something to him. Sam was a brother too. Even if he deserted."

Castiel nodded. "Dean told me he was living feet from us," he frowned worriedly. "I don't understand why he would lie to me, but he had to. I mean, how could he not be?" He shook his head. "Sam was innocent. And Dean dragged him through the mud and I figure out he's dead? What is that?" He looked up to see Balthazar giving him a dark look. It scared him. "What?"

The other male touched his rough hands together, bracelets dangling off them as he glanced from them, to Cas. His usually arrogant, casual demeanor was blackened by a storm cloud. "There's been some… weird stuff going on lately, Cas. You left before we could tell you anything about it; it began a while ago. We didn't know what to make of it, really. But some of our guys were going missing. Then they'd show up, acting all normal, for weeks. Then they would get all chummy with someone. And bam, both would go missing again. And this happened to three guys at least in the past few months. When did you say Dean and Samandriel really met?"

"Two weeks ago," Cas managed, shaken.

Balthazar nodded, turning his head to look at the counter. "That's when the last pair vanished."

Cas's eyes were round as dinner plates. "What the hell does that mean?" He demanded. "Are you telling me some_thing_ is wearing people suits and kidnapping then, a-and their friends? And that that _something_ is after Dean and me?" The look he got from the other male made him shake his head. "No, no that's insane, Balthazar. It's ridiculous! Besides, if it's after me _and _Dean, that means two victims. And you said it only takes one, right?"

Looking him in the eye cleared away Castiel's doubts and replaced them with a deep, electric fear that made his heart sweat. "I never said it was after both of you. You said you never saw him, right?" His voice was thick like tree sap and it oozed all over Cas's mind, making every thought slogged and languid. _Dean… was…. in…. danger._

Castiel felt his panic flood every atom of his body. It vibrated him bolt-upright, then up off the couch at once, his head whirling. "Dean. It wants Dean," he gasped, looking at him with wide eyes. "We have to go and find him, right now. He's riding around looking for me. I know he is. I ditched him at the diner." He pushed the vodka bottle aside and grabbed Balthazar's arm wildly. "Please, please," He begged. "I can't lose him, Balthazar; I can't let it take him!" His voice broke, and that made Balthazar's stiff outer shell crack. Shaking his head, he pushed Cas off, leaving him panting, and got up and capped the vodka bottle with jerky motions.

"Cassy," he sighed angrily, "you are damn lucky I've already broken the pact. After tonight, I'm going to have to leave town for good." He grumbled, grabbing his keys and his jacket. He turned to Cas. "If we hurry, we may be able to save him," he whispered. Nodding endlessly, too stunned and panicked to express his gratitude, Castiel rushed out with him to his black convertible. Balthazar threw it into gear and they were flying down the driveway and out onto the road, peeling off towards town to save Dean from an unknown monster.


	48. The Predators

The truck grumbled and rumbled along with Dean as they scoured the town. His heart was pounding and his head was reeling. Castiel could be in danger, he could be kidnapped or killed. Whatever this thing wanted it had something to do with killing one or both of them. And Dean was itching to wring its goddamn neck for being so close to him for so long. But there was no sign of Cas anywhere. When it got to a point where he knew he was either hidden or long gone, he turned around, and drove back to the diner to meet Sam. There was nothing left to be done. He floored it on the way back. Sliding in beside the Impala, he parked the truck angrily. He shut it off and hopped out, fists clenched as the door banged shut, trudging inside. He picked out Sammy at the booth he'd been at with Cas. Then he slid under the radar of the other customers who may recognize him from his earlier outburst and sat across from his brother, leaning over the table and folding his arms on it.

"Cas is gone." He said shortly, when Sam looked up.

Blinking, Sam's lips formed a small 'O' before he lifted his eyebrows in surprise. "You were looking for him? Jesus, Dean." He looked ruffled, like he'd just gotten out of bed, but his eyes were bright with adrenaline and he'd buttoned every button on his shirt right.

Scrubbing his hair with his hands, Dean groaned softly, "I don't know, I… I screwed up, I should have talked to him first before I called you. But I was so focused on this damn thing. He was gone after I called you. He ran off." He looked at his brother desperately. "He's probably pissed as hell and on his own and I should have just stopped to think about him first." Biting his lip, he curled his fingers on the table. "What is it, what is this thing, Sammy?"

Sam's pitying eyes shifted to his laptop screen. "I didn't have much to go on. At this point, it could be any number of things. But we're probably looking at demon, shape shifter, or a ghost."

"That's a broad topic."

"That's all I got, Dean - all I know is the kid was mangled dead and he may have been dead as long as he's known you. That would make him a ghost. If he was kidnapped by a shape shifter and tied up, and escaped, there may be more than one shape shifter who killed him before he could blow their friends cover. And if it's a demon it's probably the same deal." Sam sighed and typed in frustration. "I can't narrow it down without more to go on."

Dean rubbed his face and the cold air of the diner chilled his fear to the bone. "We have to go look into this more. We need to go back to the college, check out the room, and ask around."

"What about Cas?"

"Wherever he is he's either hidden, or he's already in trouble. Either way, this is our best plan of action," Dean said grimly. "The closer we get to answers, the closer we'll get to Cas." They exchanged nods. "Let's go."

Getting up, Sam pushed his laptop into his bag and they left together, starting up their vehicles. As Sam slid out of the parking lot, Dean gave him a bit of a head start, feeling he needed to compose himself. The traffic plugged them up and shook them out, letting them loose on the long stretch back to campus without any other company. Dean loosened his foot on the gas petal and pulled back gently until he was out of the view of Sam's rear view. Then he rubbed his palm angrily against his eyes to clear them, refusing to crash on his way to find Cas.

This was why they had avoided attachments to people for so freakin long. People got put in danger; good, loving people that didn't deserve to get hurt. Now it was Cas. All because Dean had been too afraid to tell him the truth about his life. He'd wanted him to be safe. Well, the path to hell is paved with good intentions. And he was riding that highway now, preparing himself to find a body where his wished to God he'd find his lover.

They weren't halfway to the school when cars began to turn around and follow them. Since it was such an isolated back road, winding through farms and houses, it was very obvious that something was going on. No one going the opposite direction just squealed tires to swing back around. Dean flipped out his phone and called Sam, swallowing. When his brother picked up he glanced in his rear views. "I think those frat boys found us, Sammy. We're surrounded," he said in a low voice. "They're just after me. I'll take the back road, circle back. You investigate the room. I'll lead them off."

"Are you sure, Dean? Can you take all those guys?"

"I'll find something, don't worry about me. Just get to the bottom of this." Hanging up, Dean put on the brakes gently, picking a sharp corner and smoothing through it. He pressed his foot to the Gas pedal and slid over a concrete bridge, vanishing into another back road. Sure enough, three cars followed him as he rolled over the bumps in the asphalt. Of course, he knew he was screwed. He couldn't take all these guys, but he was gonna try. Damn right. Dean Winchester did not give up. He tried to pull ahead to get distance enough to turn around and ditch them as his only plan of action. He leaned on the gas and passed under a thick canopy of withering trees. Winter was coming, creeping along the grass and drying it out, and pushing the warm breeze out of the sky. As Dean flew around a corner the tall, brown weeds bent back, swaying madly.

They were gaining on him. He couldn't shake these assholes. Every corned was getting tighter, every mailbox closer. Suddenly, not far up ahead, it became clear something was in the road. "SHIT!" Dean yelled. He slammed on the brakes, drifting sideways, tires kissing the grass, and in a puddle of rainwater he came to a jarring stop in front of a blue El Camino. The rapid halt from such a high speed left his blood pin-pricking in his veins. His heart thundered. Peering out his window, he saw some kid on the car - on the hood. He had a sharp nose and blue eyes and spiked dirty blonde hair. Didn't look older than twenty one, arms folded behind his head, eyes on the sky. Dean stared at him. What was hell was he thinking? He could've just been killed – he was blocking the friggin' road!

The three cars pulled up close behind him. More guys climbed out, and Dean looked back at them. There was no way to get back. There were ditches on both sides of the road and cars in front and behind him. He was trapped like a damn rat. Slowly, he unbuckled his seatbelt and shut off the truck, kicking the keys under the brake pedal. Nothing to do now but make a stand. Climbing out of the truck, he shut the door and looked at the trio grinning at him, shifting his boots. "Got a problem here, boys?" He said with steel, the sky overhead opening a bit to let a drizzle drift over them.

A ghost of a chuckle echoed through them. One was older looking, his eyes pale blue, looking way too aloof and happy for himself. One had neatly combed blonde hair and glowing hazel eyes, his smirk dark. Another had dark skin and black eyes and a soul-sucking expression on his face.

Behind Dean, the kid on the El Camino shifted on the car hood. "No, we've got you pretty easy. Outmanned and outgunned." Dean turned to him, staring at his gangly form.

He was standing now, hands in his pockets, and had a dead look in his eyes and deadpan amusement on his face. Dead eyes glittered through the rain. Dean glanced at his license plate, and it said, 'Michael.' For the first time he was looking at the guy who had ordered the kill shot on him. Dirty converse were blood red against the blue of the car hood, his jeans black and thin, his pullover hoodie dark gray. A bright green shirt could be seen beneath it.

Michael bent his knees and dropped off the car, landing on the black road with a smirk on his lips. "I'd say we've got you handled."

"You haven't eventried yet," Dean smirked arrogantly. "I'd hate to disappoint."

"Oh." Michael nodded, eyebrows lifting gently. "I doubt you will. Raphael?"

Spinning on his heel, Dean's eyes widened. The dark skinned boy lunged. Dean deflected him, his body kicking into high gear. Swinging his arms to redirect the kid's furious punches Dean socked him in the jaw and sent him reeling, only to come sprinting back. Every hit was aimed precisely. Every deflection was rebounded. Dean's foot whipped out and caught Raphael behind the ankle, sending him rolling to the ground. The kid was so agile that he wasn't hurt very much but he had entirely lost his footing and his ground. When he lifted his head Dean send a round-house kick to his head and Raphael sprawled out, bloody and gasping. The rain was coming down harder now, mingling blood and water on the unforgiving ground.

Triumphant, Dean turned, panting, to the others. Rain pooled down his forehead and his nose, dripping off him gently. His fury and emotional instability were making him fierce. Both his hands screamed for blood. The darkness in his eyes and his shoulders made the other two guys back off with mounting fear. But with a sharp glance from Michael, they exchanged looks and ran at him full-on. Dean took the blonde by the collar and swung him off balance, swinging him a left hook in the face. The kid crumpled like a sack of potatoes.

"Gabriel!" The smug one's arrogance evaporated and morphed into anger. He grabbed Dean with ferocity and threw him to the ground. Eyes wide, Dean scrambled to get up, breaking the guy's stride as he rushed to get him again with a dive. It sent him crashing to the ground. As Dean got up, backing away, he gasped as a pair of arms arrested his own from behind, bending them painfully back. He cried out and hit one knee. A voice in his ear made him shiver.

"That's for my nose, pretty boy," Gabriel hissed. Raphael got shakily to his feet, nursing a head injury. Michael was watching with mounting amusement.

Dean grunted and groaned, pulling his entire body forward sharply so that Gabriel lost his grip. Then he spun and was about to kick him in the nuts when he was grabbed from behind yet again. The last guy lifted him up, and Gabriel was laughing. With much struggling and a lot of broken punches, they wrested Dean into zip-tie hand cuffs and knocked him out against Raphael's knee, throwing him carelessly in the trunk of the El Camino. Then they tore off down the road, vanishing and leaving the baby blue truck alone in the pouring rain.


	49. The Imminent

Sam broke into Samandriel's room deftly, his hands steady as he picked the lock and cracked open the door. He glanced around sharply and raised his gun. Curtains fluttering. TV on static. He stepped inside, sweeping the room, and found nothing. Samandriel wasn't here. Crossing the room, Sam shut off the TV and went back to shut the door, closing it gently before turning back to the room. It was mostly empty. A bed, an empty wardrobe… Sam pushed the gun into the back of his jeans, safety double checked, and went along the walls looking for trap doors. Everything was flat and seamless. There was no out-of-place breeze. He checked under the bed and lifted up the bare mattress. No hex bags, no markings, not even a crumb. Nothing. It was just an empty room. Didn't Dean say that it lived here? How could that be, they'd only figured out Samandriel was a monster a few hours ago, and he was supposed to have a shit ton of stuff here.

There was no time to think about it. He went to the window to shut it and haul ass to Dean, knowing he hadn't gotten away from those guys, but as he touched the edge of the window he felt wet. Pulling his arm back in, he looked at his fingers. Scarlet blood stained his fingertips, the coppery smell touching his nostrils and making them flare. "Jesus," he whispered. Reaching to find the source he realized the window was heavier than normal. The glass pane swung in with a slab of rotting meat tied to it.

Sam back-wheeled, letting out a yelp of surprise. As the window clicked into place the meat fell off its hook and rolled across the carpet until it nudged the toe of his boot. It looked like a kid's leg twined together with fishing line. A rock in his gut hardened and his stomach turned over. His knees felt weak, his head lightened, and he tried desperately to remember what ate rotting flesh.

Oh, crap. Running back into the hall, Sam bolted. He knew what it was. This thing, he knew what it wanted with Dean. Heart pounding, he reached to push open the double doors to the parking lot and gave a gasp as he was yanked backwards sharply by the collar of his jacket. Shock clouded his eyes as he flew back and rolled along the tile, bumping into the bottom of the steps with his shoulder. He groaned and looked up in alarm.

"You better tell me now, if you value your skin," Samandriel growled, fury in his eyes. _"Where did they take my lunch?"_

Everything hurt. His knees, his chest, his gut; every time he breathed his body racked with pain. Probably because he'd broken some ribs, his brain offered. Broken ribs? He thought. How did that happen? Dean slogged through unconsciousness like dragging his limbs through wet curtains, his eyes rolling and blinking. His head hurt like hell, too. He must've been beaten pretty badly. As his mind rebooted he slowly recalled what had happened. Left the truck. Thrown into a trunk. Grinning faces; Michael. He was slumped against a metal column, half crumpled over, his wrists and ankles zip-tied, a serious cramp in his ass and frost bite on his fingers. Fuck those assholes and their nice cars. Taking a deep breath, Dean groaned softly under his breath, squinting through a swollen eye at the misty room.

Tables and chairs were propped in the corner. There were lockers along the back wall, and hoses all over the floor, and metal conveyed belts. Dean shivered. It was freezing in here. Chains dangled from the low ceiling, and the floors were stained with a thousand unknown substances. He gagged just thinking about it. Why did everything look so…? He looked further. A slab of rotting beef hung from one of the many dirty meat hooks. The stench hit him, and he really did gag, turning his face away and pressed his cheeks to the cold column. He forced his stomach back down again before he looked again.

He was in an abandoned slaughterhouse. There were heavy metal doors with thick locks at one corner of the room, and garbage scattered everywhere, as if people used this place regularly. Frat boys? In a slaughterhouse? This was so fucked up - who were these guys? Homicidal anti-gay sentiments?

If the lights weren't so damn dim he may have been able to see who it was that came through the door then, a loud screeching of metal on concrete sending cold shivers up his spine and scraping at his teeth. But he knew who it was by the voice. "Get cozy," came the echo of Gabriel, the blonde, "you'll be right there until we find your boy toy Cassy."

Sitting up at once, Dean snarled. "If you touch a_ hair_ on his head-"

"You'll what?" Gabriel chuckled darkly, making Dean gulp. "Rattle your chains? Call us names?" The power in his voice was condemning. A darkness cast over him, and made him look like a walking shadow; his hazel eyes glowed like lanterns, and a shadow even rolled along the walls behind him sharply, almost like he had huge black wings. But it was just a trick of the light. "Please, pretty boy." Gabriel's stare was cold. Lifeless. His casual footsteps retreated out the door, his eyes flashing as the door began to slide menacingly shut behind him. "We'll get your little faggot soon. And we're going to string you both up like pigs." The slam from the door echoed along the length of the room, and he heard bone-chilling laughter fading down the hall.

Dean felt a cold, hard fear in his belly like nothing he'd ever felt before. Not when he'd been about to die. Not when his dad had gone missing. This was like a poison; it sucked away his hope, his strength, and sank him into a throbbing coma of terror and pain. This was not how this was supposed to go. A bunch of pricks were supposed to mouth him off and get their asses kicked in front of their bitch-ass friends. Not some boy band trouble of murderers slicing into him and Cas, side by side, in a meat house miles from any known help. No one knew where they were. Sam was probably looking everywhere or taken care of already. His baby brother_. Christ._

Violent tremors began to rack him. They were gonna hurt Castiel. Sweet, lanky Cas. They were going to take knives and knuckles and bruise his pale skin, blossoming purple and black marks along his chiseled jaw and his fine cheek bones and his lips. Dean's hands and his shoulders shuddered and his heart hammered against his injured ribs madly. Sink their fingertips into his flesh and make him bleed. His blood spilling over the lip of the knife as it slid like butter through his flesh, making him cry out hoarsely. _No, no, no - please_, God,_ no._

He could see Cas's body radiating after each blow, and jostling with a tense silence that he knew he had. A sharp kick to the shins releasing a hiss from his chapped lips as he crumpled to the floor. Hands grabbing his collar and looking into his stormy blue eyes and pulling back a fist as far as it would go. Blood spilling everywhere, from his wrists and his ankles and his throat, making his eyes empty of hope and his body weaken with every heartbeat.

"No," Dean whispered harshly, gruffly, and began to shift. He sat up and tested his bonds roughly. "No." He repeated angrily, working his boots against the zip tie. They were _not_ allowed to so much as touch that boy. He didn't care who the fuck they thought they were, or why they hated gays so much, they were dirt. He pictured Cas's kind, tired face, smiling up at him early in the morning. His socked feet pushing at Dean's legs when he bubbled with pleasure early in the morning, when both of them were tired but riddled with need. His rough hands taking Dean's face and kissing him sweetly, so sweetly, every moment he could.

These people were garbage. Dead and buried filth. He was going to fucking rip them apart, limb from limb. "NO," he yelled, his brain shifting into overdrive as the echoes bounced off the room at every level, making it sound like there were a thousand of him in there. He would not let them do this. He would not stand by and watch. He refused.

He was angry, and he'd only be angrier once he was freed. And he would be loose. Then he'd feel the breath leave each and every one as he strangled their thin little necks. His eyes burned with it.

The windows down, the gas pedal flat to the floor, Balthazar pulled around a corner sharply. He grimly turned the wheel with the curve as he flew along an empty back road. The clouds overhead were heavy and lethargic with precipitation. The roads were dark with it, the air chilled and the wind even colder as he whipped through his brown hair, his elbow hanging out the window. Beside him his phone rang and he pulled his arm in to man the wheel as he flicked it open. He pressed the phone to his ear.

"Yes, Cassy?" He glanced in his rear view, which had a small blue and white truck struggling to keep up behind him. "Having trouble keeping up?"

_"I can't safely push this thing over seventy, Balthazar_; _it's older than my dad_," Castiel scolded him, his voice crackling over the line. _"Plus I haven't driven anything in at least a year, let alone a truck. How much further?"_

"We should be there soon. Fifteen minutes, maybe."

_"Good. Pull over."_

Balthazar's jaw dropped. "Pull over?!" He blurted. "They could be carving up your six-foot-tall dildo as we speak, and you want to take a piss break?"

_"Dean's younger brother is flashing me his hazards directly behind me. He goes to college with the kidnappers, and possibly monsters. I think we should pull over."_

"…. Oh."

Easing down on his speed took a minute. Balthazar pulled over into a short gravel road and drove into a field of grass, parking his convertible neatly. Cas parked beside him and they both climbed out, exchanging glances as Sam swing in along the road. The wind blew their hair all around as Sam's door opened and the car rocked as he climbed out. His thick brown locks whipped, his dark eyes dark but determined, his jaw tense. He walked around to them and hovered there breathlessly.

"You're not going to believe this," the tall male said shortly, glancing back and forth between them.

* * *

_Shout out to Heroes for the dark inspiration. _


	50. The Cold

OK FIRST OFF – BAHRAIN. THAT'S AWESOME. YOU GUYS ARE AWESOME. WOW.

ALSO, IRAN. AND IRAQ. AND WOW. JUST, WOW.

AND I'M JUST SITTING HERE ON THE EACH COAST OF THE USA LIKE, WOW.

JUST WOW. LOVE IS UNIVERSAL.

OK, I'M DONE.

* * *

Dean felt the icy concrete against his bare feet and shivered as he worked his knife into his numb fingertips, straining against their zip tie cuffs. A grunt escaped his lips. He'd just gotten his sore ankles out of their bonds by shirking his socks and boots and loosened the knife from his sock, pushing it behind him and sliding down the wall to scramble for it. Now he was working his feet back into his shoes, only halfway, as to disguise most of his escape while he worked open the knife.

His breath misted. It was getting colder. Probably meaning to slow him down. His body's slowing heart rate - as it drew blood flow from his extremities to protect his organs – was making him sluggish. The violent shudders in his arms did not help his progress.

He let out a frustrated breath as his numb fingers fumbled and dropped the knife. He pressed his cheek to the wall as he slid down to try to pick it back up. The agility was quickly leaving his calloused fingers. He'd have to work faster.

Green eyes flashing to the firmly shut door, they searched for any windows, and saw nothing. No one could know, or else he was finished. His head was still fuzzy from being beaten but his mind was sharp as a whip, pushing through the fog with alarm and necessity.

The door handle squeaking froze Dean's heart. He settled back, giving into the pain in his ribs and chest, groaning softly as he bowed his head to take attention from his half- socked feet, which were not well concealed. But the attention would be on his face and his hands, not his boots, as long as he gave the impression of still being bound. He pushed his ankles firmly together.

Gabriel came swaggering through the door, spinning on his heel and looking around with dark satisfaction at the temperature. "You won't last long in here if it keeps dropping like this. Michael's insisted we turn the knob all the way and leave it, but…" He took a broken knob out of his pocket and tossed it into Dean's lap with a swift flick of his wrist. "I got carried away… I wanna be sure you're nice and frosty." He shut the door mostly behind him to trap in the chill. "How ya feelin there, hoss?"

"Peachy keen, dog breath," Dean chuckled, watching the guy come closer. "I could use a space heater or two, but besides that this last hell-circle cold isn't bothering me too much. I'm still damn hot no matter what temperature it is, so you know, I ain't too bad off." He glanced up to see Gabriel staring at him with quiet rage, pulling his collar closer to his neck. "I'm guessing you don't do well in cold yourself."

"Bad circulation," Gabriel said sarcastically, his eyes flashing. "But that's why you're the one strung up to a wall and not me." He paced casually, making a hum of thoughtfulness. His blond hair was neatly combed back, his jawline catching the misty light. "So, what would you like us to do to Cassy first?" He purred. "We could carve him up. Give him a couple scars. Take a finger or two, maybe. Take an ear." His words were plated in apathy. Shuddering purposefully, Gabriel turned to see Dean's face, giving each curl of his mouth a bit of darkness. "When the knife pushes into his pale flesh…" His lips quirked. "I can't wait to see what color your angel bleeds."

"You sadist son of a bitch," Dean whispered, shaking his head like he was trying to get the imagery of them battering his Castiel out of his thoughts. "Is disobeying a fraternity so insulting? What are you, a bunch of hormonal thirteen year old girls?" He met Gabriel's dead eyes. "I mean… aren't there other ways to deal with your Daddy's disappointment in his little cock-loving son?" That earned him a swift kick to the chest. His cracked ribs broke. With a garbled cry of agony, Dean determinedly clung to the knife in his hands behind his back, and bent over halfway. Gabriel knelt beside him, grabbing him by his hair and yanking his head back up, which sent a flare of agony through him.

"You're pretty cocky for a guy with his hands tied." A switchblade appeared in his hand. "I could shorten it for you - a few inches, maybe." Dean cringed at the thought visibly, making his prison guard chuckle. "Look, ball boy," Gabriel said in a low voice. "Let's just say he owed Michael something with this whole fraternity deal - and he tore up the contract, and jumped the band wagon." He studied the surprise and confusion on Dean's face before shrugging. "You don't know everything about Castiel. Not yet. Maybe not ever. So," he rose to his feet, "its best you don't try and work out a problem without all the variables."

Pulling back his steel toe boot, Gabriel swung his foot around Dean and kicked his hands, hard. The blow crushed his fingers. The shock more than the pain made Dean gasp. The knife clattered to the floor. Kicking the knife out of his reach, Gabriel spun his switchblade in his hand and chuckled. "Sit tight, pipsqueak. It'll all be over soon." The door slammed behind him with such finality that it shook loose Dean's arrogance and sent it spiraling into a deep, dark hole, the blood draining from his face.

Pale, shaking, and now with an icy hand gripping his heart, Dean prayed to God that Castiel was somewhere safe. Even if he died here. Even if no one came. Even if Sammy had to bury him. Let both of them be ok, somewhere they didn't have to face these killers.

* * *

Rapid footsteps approached through the thick, unruly foliage shrouding the building. "Dean? Dean!" Castiel called hoarsely as he jumped through a hedge and smacked into the structure. He hefted open the heavy metal door to the slaughterhouse and bolted inside. "Dean!" His voice carried, echoing off the long hallways as he pounded concrete and went door to door, pounding his fists on each one as he ran. His dark hair was a mess. His eyes were wild. At each door, there was silence – a soul-sucking silence, one that usually meant the undead were angry you tried to disturb their eternal rest. Breathlessly, Castiel continued to search, condemning himself to silence out of fear of ghosts. Each door he opened swung loudly, banging the walls. His trembling hands slipped here and there but his speed was born out of terror.

Whirling, he left the empty hallway behind. He hadn't turned the first corner before someone grabbed him by his collar and lifted him off the ground. "We knew you'd come," Zachariah seethed.

Dangling, Castiel barked a laugh. "Sorry, I brought my dog - and I left his leash at home," he shot back, as a figure came tearing down the hall behind him with lightning movements.

Its eyes blazed and it moved with inhuman speed. Turning, Zachariah dropped Cas out of shock, and stumbled back. Castiel picked a door and vanished through it, slamming it shut behind him as Samandriel leaped onto Zachariah with a howl. The sloppy noises that followed were… unpleasant. Castiel tried to ignore them, scrunching up his face and forcing his stomach not to turn.

Two knocks on the door, and when he opened it Balthazar pulled him out and they ran passed Samandriel, stumbling over their own two feet in their hurry. They ran with the stench of death riding on their tailcoats.

* * *

An hour had passed. Dean had nothing else to put into escaping. His hands were stiff and numb, as were both feet, and the bottom half of his legs. His ass was an ice block. Shifting, he groaned as he lay down on one side, sending blood flow to his legs. His cheek pressed against the freezing floor. Glancing up, his breath ragged, he watched hazily as the mist of his breath floated up and slowly faded into the air. There was no way for him to move around to keep warm. All he could do was lie here and count his every heartbeat until his body decided it was too much and gave up. He felt two broken ribs, and felt blossoming bruises on his torso; it was the little that he could still feel. Even now, his body was lulling him to sleep as it tried to ease the process along until it was only his organs running.

At least he couldn't feel his arms or legs. Both had been throbbing with pain for a long time now. It was such a comforting feeling, though, dying in your dreams. No blood, no knives, no gunshots. Just memories and death. Dean heaved a sigh and shut his eyes.

* * *

"I think it's this one," Balthazar muttered, glancing around before rapidly lock-picking a door he had spotted. It was pretty remote, and a large part of the facility may lay beyond – they needed to broaden their search for Dean. From his knowledge they'd locked him in a freezer portion of the building used for mass cutting procedures. Lines and lines of death. Balthazar was grim but determined as he fumbled with the lock.

"The truck was soaked with rain," Castiel whispered into his phone as he came down the hall behind Balthazar. "I don't think he's got long if they've locked him in there, Sam."

_"Stop saying that!"_ Sam snapped over the line, making Cas jump. _"You'll find him. Just hurry. I'll be there as soon as I can."_

Balthazar popped the lock and threw the door open, and Castiel ran in after him. "We will, Sam," Castiel said shakily as he sprinted after his ally. "We'll be waiting."

He hung up, feet pounding the ground as Balthazar came to a sharp stop. Hands grabbed him and held him back from spiraling to the floor, and Balthazar clung to him tightly, holding his breath. Both of them froze. They could hear people talking down the hall.

Creeping closer, backs to the wall, Balthazar kept a good grip on Castiel's collar as they neared a large room. Whoever was inside that room was sitting on the far end. The voices became more audible. They began to pick out people, and exchanged feverish glances.

"Will he last long enough for us to lure Cas in?" Raphael questioned. He sounded tired, and the shuffle of an ice pack made it clear he was nursing wounds. That was one advantage they held.

"He doesn't need to," Gabriel answered. "Castiel will come anyway. And he'll be easier to manage once news hits him that his hubby is dead."

Castiel shuddered in Balthazar's arms, and was shaken to make him stop. "Get yourself together," Balthazar whispered, "we still have time."

"Besides, that guy was trouble. He's the reason we lost Cas in the first place." Gabriel was pacing the floor in agitation. "They'll be here soon. Where's Michael?"

Castiel was trembling from head to foot. Why did this happen to him? Why did everyone he needed get hurt, or leave him? He couldn't stand it anymore. He had to go now, and get Dean, before his heart froze. He was about to lurch out of Balthazar's arms when a mild explosion rocked the building. The figures in the room they couldn't see jumped to their feet and shuffled around.

"What was that?" Raphael demanded.

"Let's go kill whoever it is," Gabriel replied, and their footsteps broke into runs towards them.

Balthazar pushed Cas against the corner of the wall jutting out to conceal the room and covered him with his body. The three men ran by, one by one, until their footsteps were fading down the hall behind them.

"Go Sam," Balthazar whispered as he pulled away. "That was damn close." Castiel lead the sprint into the room, and both of them flew to the big door marker 'FREEZER,' yanking it open so the tidal wave of cold hit them like a train.


	51. The Aftermath

Warmth… touch – bodies! Feeling people close by, hearing their voices and the heat radiating off them, Dean's eyes rolled open. He was gazing up at two blurry figures, kneeling by him in the pale light. He took a quick breath and blinked rapidly. They were too blurry, but that smell… Was it…? His jaw worked but nothing came out. He couldn't even ask who it was. His entire body was limp, aching with cold.

Hot hands pressed against his forehead and his body, checking his wounds. It made him writhe in joy. The heat to his chilled skin was a miracle; he pushed his frozen flesh into the calloused fingers. They covered every inch of him gently, but with more fever, wanting to answer his needs. The second figure moved around to grab the discarded knife on the floor and cut his bonds. The zip tie fell away. The freedom of his arms was apathetic. He hardly moved; he couldn't.

A ragged sob immediately identified the one touching him. "Dean," Castiel whispered, and the more Dean blinked the more he could make out the tears in those baby blues. Hands supported the back of his neck. Warm lips pressed his forehead. "We're here. Hold on."

The warmth slid away for a moment, and Dean almost whined for it, but not a heartbeat later warm arms were around him and he was rising off the ground. Shock woke him up. Dean stared up at Cas in surprise. "Jesus," he managed to murmur, green eyes wide. Cas had picked him right up - off the damn ground! Since when was he this strong?

But Cas's face was half determined steel and half devastation. All he could do was turn to the other figure and say something Dean didn't understand. It didn't matter anyway. Dean was slipping away. Castiel's hot chest and neck and shoulder and cheek became Dean's heaven. He soaked it all up, drinking in the smell of his borrowed aftershave greedily as the boy shuddered against his ice. Castiel didn't react to his temperature otherwise. He cradled Dean like he was a toddler, his arms like steel girders.

Then they spoke again and things began to move. He was being slightly jostled, which he wanted to complain about, but figured it didn't matter enough. He was dying anyway. Dying against Cas was enough. He'd put up with anything to die like this.

Then there came bright light, and warm air. Slowly, slowly, he was thawing. Then the jostling got worse. They were running. Bobbing madly down the hall, the pair of them were sprinting for sunlight. But there was none. It was night by now – and the air outside was less chilly than inside, and considerably less so than the freezer, but winter was coming.

The air had a bite to it, the wind reaching out eager hands to snatch away what little heat Dean had to himself. Then the wind was gone. Doors slammed. There was a lot of loud shouting, and large bangs, and gunfire. Dean heard Sam, and other familiar voices, then the figure with Castiel was yelling. He climbed out of the car and ran into the other voices.

Moments later, he was back, and other car doors slammed, and his car door slammed. Then they were in the car tearing away down the road with Castiel whispering feverishly into Dean's ear. But the former hunter was already unconscious against shoulder.

* * *

_Cassy…_ The ground was so hard to get to. He was floating, weightless, like the sky wanted him, but he needed his feet to touch the earth. He wanted to feel the dirt between his toes and the grass tickle his ankles. He needed the wind and the trees, and his brother, and his lover. Flying was great and all, but it wasn't him. He didn't even like planes, dammit. His hands reached out and snagged handfuls of dirt. Somehow, that anchored him. He felt his shirt billowing around him and his skin prickled with cool air and his wrist ached. But he was lowering. Slowly, so slowly. He tensed his arms with desperation. Refusing to let go was fueled by pure will.

Around him, the world began to fade bit by bit. His knees were inches from the ground. Every shock of the breeze trying to carry him away made him more determined. He pulled the earth to him with all his strength. Then, as the sky overhead vanished, and the dirt between his fingers was all that remained, his knees hit the grass. His heart swelled with joy.

_"Cassy…"_ Everything was heavy all of a sudden. His weightlessness was gone. And the _pain_… He felt it in every crack, every crevice, every inch of his battered body. He was here. Groaning, Dean pinched his eyes and tried to open them, forcing the weights off his eyelids. Everything was too bright. "Damn." He muttered, his voice guttural and sluggish. "Who was doing jumping jacks on my chest?" He demanded. His voice swam around in his head like a barrel of fish.

"Gabriel," came Sam's voice. Dean turned his head to see a Sam blog sitting on the end of his bed. "You and hospitals, man, what the hell?" He teased.

"Shut up," Dean grumbled moodily.

Sam chuckled. "Your, uh, 'Cassy,' is asleep over here, do you want to see him?"

Dean nodded at once. "Please, Sammy." He looked around wearily. Hospital room again. He was sick of these damn white walls, and his wrist ached like crazy. His ribs and his arms and legs… he felt like he'd gotten hit by a truck all over again. Well, close. Anyway, he dreaded any sort of movement, but he strained to look over to find Castiel.

Sam had gotten up and walked over to the couch on his other side. There, Dean saw Castiel curled up under his big tan coat, dark smudges under his eyes. It put an arrow through Dean's heart. He looked so tired and so ruffled. His nose and cheeks were pale with blotchy red patches, as if he were sick, or had been crying, which was more likely. When Sam put a hand on his shoulder Castiel drew out of sleep like he had been doing something wrong. He grabbed his coat with big clumsy hands and struggled out from under it. "Hmm… What?" Cas asked worriedly as he lifted his heavy head and squinted up at Sam. "What's wrong, is Dean…?" His head whipped around and Dean gave him a tired smile. In a flounder of movement, he took his sleep-leaded arms and legs and scrambled to Dean's side, leaning heavily on the bed for support. His coat fell into the cushions. "Dean!" He said with strangled love in his tone, his blue eyes wide.

His hair was sticking up in every direction and he looked like he hadn't shaved in a week. Dean wanted to so badly reach out and touch his stubble, rub his neck, work his fingers soothingly through that sex hair. His arm and hand and fingers burned with it. Every fiber of his heart bled knowing he hardly had the strength to lift his arm let alone comfort his lover. "Cas," Dean whispered. "Jesus, it's good to hear your voice. Are you ok? What happened, are you hurt?"

"No," Cas said as he reached out and took Dean's hands, threading their fingers gently. His warmth was like an old memory. It brought bursts of need ripping through Dean's chest. "I… I'm all right, they didn't get to me."

"Thank God." Dean heaved a sigh of relief and shut his eyes. "Sam – Sammy, are you all right?" He opened his eyes and actually looked at his brother, and sat he had scars on his arms and stitches on his forehead. But his eyes were soft and his posture was easy.

"I got into a bit of a scrap with those guys. Benny and the rugby guys and me," Sam explained. "We came out on top, though. They were pretty rough."

"But anyone who goes against Sam is obviously ludicrous," Castiel muttered, and they laughed. Six foot, four inches of concentrated teddy bear; Sam smiled and shrugged like it wasn't much, but they knew he was fierce in a fight.

"Benny, huh? Damn. So tell me what happened." Dean used a bit of the pain in his chest to keep him awake as he sat up a bit, and Castiel helped him prop the pillows to keep him up. When he was settled his hand was sliding back around Dean's with a gentle need. "I was out for all of whatever happened, fill me in."

Humming, Sam got a thoughtful expression on his face and glanced off, trying to recall details. His hair shimmered in the hospital light but he just pushed it out of his eyes with practice.

"Well, they locked you in the freezer with Zachariah, Gabriel, and Raphael guarding you," Castiel offered. Dean's eyes went to him and soaked up his pale face, his stubble, the electricity in his eyes. "And I used Samandriel to get passed Zachariah, who was on his own doing a perimeter."

"You did what?" Dean demanded.

Sam and Cas glanced at one another. "I forgot you didn't know." Castiel apologized. "Samandriel was a ghoul, and he was after you. He seemed to have a vendetta, it wasn't clear why."

That sank in slow. "A ghoul. So Samandriel was dead. I _was_ talking to a monster the whole freakin' time." Dean said quietly.

Nodding, Castiel reached out and put a hand on his forehead. "You didn't know. No one did." He drew his hand back, and Dean's eyes were on him. "But he was after you specifically, and Sam found him, all tore up that you'd been taken – really upset. Dean, he agreed to help us out, just so he could be the one to get you. Like he was desperate that you had to be his next meal."

"And you guys, you let him just tag along?"

"Well… We let him loose on Zachariah, and when we ran out with you in tow, he had vanished. We haven't seen him since," Castiel explained. "We haven't left your side in three days waiting for him to come back – but he hasn't showed. He's gone off the radar."

"Three days," Dean whispered. "I'm losing time this year, boy."

Castiel nodded. "After that, Balthazar and I snuck into the hall, and hid outside while Sam and Benny made a distraction."

"Yeah," Sam picked up. Dean's eyes went to him then and took in his tired smile and the wrinkle of his clothes like he'd slept in them. "We had a few bombs we found in one of the boxes inside. So we used them to blow up the opposite side of the building. It wasn't much – it hardly dented the doors – but it got their attention."

"They ran right passed us when they heard." Castiel added.

"Yeah. And the two of them against the five of us? No chance," Sam laughed, "Benny and me wiped the floor with them. But they got in a few good swings." He shook his head, looking up at Dean. "When we went to leave, though… Michael showed." He exchanged a look with Cas and cleared his throat, making it clear something else was up.

"Well what?" Dean questioned eagerly.

"Michael took them all on," Castiel said quietly from his side. "He's very powerful. He was up against Sam, and Balthazar had to help him take him out. I was in Balthazar's car with you and he just…"

"It seemed too easy," Sam finished. "I was wrestling with the guy pretty hard core before Balthazar just came up and picked him right up and flung him around a bit. And Michael just didn't get up after that." He shrugged suspiciously. "It was weird, man. But Raphael said something to me before he passed out. He said… 'Looks like our fallen angel has a new master.'"


	52. The End

Sighing, Castiel shook his head and stared at his hands guiltily. The anxiety in him was radiating. Dean looked down at him and his eyes flickered. "Sam, can I have a minute with Cas?" He asked suddenly. It was time for some truth.

Sam looked up in surprise and just nodded, shooting them both a smile before stepping into the hall. He shut the door easily behind him and walked off, passed the misted glass windows.

Dean turned to Castiel, who wouldn't look at him. He just massaged Dean's hand gently with his thumbs and stared at his lap with a furrow to his brow. Just seeing him melted Dean's heart - he hadn't left his side in three damn days. The gravel in his voice, the touch of his hands, so soothing when he had been frozen stiff… He swallowed. "What damage report did they give me?" Dean asked quietly.

"Broken ribs, fractured wrist, some internal bleeding," Castiel rattled off. "Nothing too serious. Most of it they patched with surgery and bandages. But the frostbite almost got both of your feet. We got you out just in time. You'll recover after a few weeks."

"I'm just lucky like that." Dean chuckled. He sighed and looked at Cas, who glanced up at him briefly. "They told me a few things, Cas. Things I didn't know about." He glanced at their hands. "You were in their fraternity?" Looking him in the eye, Dean caught his blue gaze and held it.

"Yes," Cas whispered. "When… I was in a dark place, Dean. For a long time. We did so much damage, I… I can't explain it. It was so natural. That's all I can remember. The things they did and then getting out and…" He held his breath.

Fine hazel eyes were unshakable. "They said I was the reason you left."

Castiel let his breath out shakily. "I felt… pulled to you." He looked at Dean guiltily. "The closer you got to town, I think the worse it got. I kept messing up on my initiation. Feeling my heart being tugged away from them, I…" He pushed his hand through his hair and rested it on the back of his neck. "I don't know. I was following orders one minute, and the next I applied for a transfer. I left it all behind and followed my heart. And I found you." He shook his head. "I was going to be Michael's replacement. He trusted me, needed me. He graduates soon. To go and butt heads with his brother, working for his dad's company. I guess he took my discharge from the brothers really hard." He sighed. "I shouldn't have pledged."

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" Eyeing him, Dean still didn't get it. Why hadn't he said anything before now? All the trouble it put them through, shouldn't he have spoken up?

"I… You… I didn't want to make this any… Harder." Castiel groaned. "Look, I… I just wanted it to be natural. I wanted you to like me on your own. To fall in love with me your way, but not because of what I needed. I didn't want you to be obligated just because I was going through this whole celestial magnetic thing to you. I never wanted to take away your choice. So you never had to choose, but…"

"In a way I did choose," Dean finished. "I chose you."

Castiel nodded gently. "I'm sorry, Dean, I should have told you. I was just afraid to. I fell for you while I knew you, not before," he explained feverishly. "I was called to you. But I went looking for you, I fell in love with you - I wasn't forced. It was hard to ignore, but it really was just us."

Nodding slowly, Dean glanced him over. "Wow. That's amazing. I mean, I've never heard of that before – this is new territory for me. But," he paused, confused, "what was it that brought you here, to our college?"

Shrugging, Castiel just shook his head. "I… It was the only other college close to town. I was North, this was South. I just knew I was being pulled South. I applied for this college, and they put me smack right here, with you." He looked at Dean. "You're not mad that I brought a horde of frat brothers on us?"

"A bit." Smiling, Dean shook his head. "No, way. I can't explain what was up with you, but I'm damn glad it happened. Having you around just drew everything together. Put everything into perspective. Everything else was just… collateral damage? I don't even know."

Heaving a sigh of relief, Cas bent hid head and touched his forehead to their hands. "Thank goodness. I was afraid you'd be furious."

"Me? Never. I'm a little miffed they tried to kill us but hey. Not the first time I've almost died – this year, last year..."

"What?" Cas looked up at him in alarm. "You mean, besides the car wreck?" Shit. Hunter life, he forgot entirely. Was he ready? I mean, he'd already seen a ghoul, I guess it was about time. Jesus, was he screwed now. Dean looked at Cas and swallowed nervously, making his lover more agitated. "Dean, why are you looking at me like that?" Cas asked shakily.

Glancing away, Dean gathered his thoughts, clearing his throat. "Uh, right. Confession time. I guess we've both been keeping secrets." He looked at Cas with guarded eyes. "My dad wasn't in pest control, Cas. Are you wondering how Sam and me knew what to look for, when we had to find out Samandriel was a ghoul?"

Cas nodded tentatively. "A little. But I thought it was just a freak thing," he whispered.

With a shake of his head Dean smirked bitterly. "I wish it was." He tightened his fingers around Castiel's and looked at his innocent face and sighed. "Cas, these things are all over the place. All over the country. My dad, and Sam and me, we used to travel. My whole life we drove across the states killing monsters. Ghosts. Demons. 'Saving people, hunting things.' Ever since our mom was killed in a fire when I was six – by a demon my dad saw that night – he raised us to be ready, and to kill these things before they killed us, and others."

"What?" Castiel's eyes were round as dinner plates. "Are… Are you crazy?" He sputtered. "You expect me to believe-"

"Cas, you saw that ghoul," Dean interrupted. "There are thousands of them out there, in hiding, all over the world. And the moment they put a toe out of line, we put them down. It's what we do. If it's evil, we kill it. And there's plenty more where Samandriel came from." Cas's stunned silence made him realize that was out of line. "I'm sorry, that was harsh." He kneaded Cas's hand and pressed his lips into a thin line as he watched his love digest uneasily what he'd just heard. "Cas, I'm a hunter. No matter what I do, no matter who I meet, or fall in love with, it will always come back to haunt me. Right now Samandriel is out there waiting for me to step outside this hospital and tear me to shreds. And I need to take him out." They locked eyes. "I can't… I can't stay here, Cas." Dean said softly.

The devastation in Castiel's eyes was like watching a dam break in slow-motion. "You're leaving?" He whispered.

Dean nodded gingerly. "I have to. I can't let that thing just wander around – it might kill again, before it gets to me and I take care of it. He needs to be put down."

"You're leaving… me?" Castiel managed, and the tears in his eyes twisted Dean's heart into painful, icy pretzel knots.

"Jesus, Cas," Dean whispered, reaching out his sore arm and pushing the tears off Cas's cheeks with his thumb, "Don't do that. Please, please don't do that. I can't. I…" His Adams apple bobbed. _I don't want to. I want to be with you 'til I die of old age, and watch you paint and draw, and hold you close, and see your face every day for the rest of my life._ He choked on those words; the ones that would push him over the edge, too. He already felt tears brimming in his eyes. "I'd be putting you in danger. I already have – he could've killed you while I was tied up, Cas, do you know what that would've done?" He snapped. "To me, to your parents? I can't let that be my fault."

"No. No, Dean, please," Cas pushed, on the verge of breaking down, "Please don't say that. You can't look at me and..." His voice was getting louder. "I thought you were going to stick through this with me - I thought we were doing this _together!_"

"_I can't live without you!"_ Dean yelled, his heart monitor beating rapidly in the silence that followed. They didn't look at one another. Cas was trembling, and Dean felt his pain medication kicking in. "If it comes back, it could kill you, Cas." He whispered. "If I leave, at least it'll follow me away from you. You'll be…"

"Safe?" Cas shot back. "Surrounded by ghosts and demons, that are apparently real, by the way, and I've just missed them_ - I'll be safe_?"

"…Then come with me."

"Wh…" Blue orbs glistening with tears, Castiel looked at him, taken aback. "I…?"

Nodding, Dean sighed. "I don't know how long it will take. I don't know if coming back here is an option. Nothing is for sure until we kill Samandriel," he said honestly, and cradled Cas's face in his hand. "But I want you to be safe, and the safest place is with me." Castiel's shock was stunting his ability to reply. He stammered a bit, and sniffed and massaged Dean's arm gently, trying to get a full sentence out. His last few tears squeezed out and he pushed them off his face with his arm.

"Ok." Cas said roughly, and cleared his throat. "Yes, ok." His decisive tone was surprising.

"Are you sure?" Dean replied. "This is a dangerous life. I'm damn good at what I do, but it means no more school, until further notice. No contact. Tell your parents we're taking a year off of school to get married or something." That broke the tension. They giggled a bit together, and Dean drew Cas in and kissed his forehead. "It's guns and death and motel rooms. Do you think you can handle it?"

Castiel nodded, over and over, and reached out and kissed Dean's lips, like drugs to an addict. "Yes. I want to. I'll do whatever you tell me - I can do anything you ask." He looked him full in the face. "I can't let you go alone knowing you're in danger, and I can't stay here without you."

Dean's face broke into a smile, finally letting his relief show, and nodded in return. "Ok. All right, I'll talk to Sam, tell him we're heading out as soon as I get out of here. How long do I have?"

"Two weeks," Cas replied.

"Then you have two weeks to get ready," Dean said to him somberly. "The possibility that this might be a forever thing is real, Cas. I don't want to scare you. But you should be scared. We may not make it back." Cas nodded carefully, meeting his eyes.

"I understand." He replied grimly. His eyes had drawn back into calculation mode. The wheels in his head were clearly whirling, setting up dates and marking meetings and organizing his packing already. So serious. So sure. It made Dean realize just how in love Cas was with him – much more than he let be shown, that's for sure. But that was the same for both of them. Without him, Dean had no idea what he would have done. He would have killed himself every day they were apart. He needed Cas and Cas needed him. Dean pulled him in for another kiss, pushing his fingers into Cas's dark hair like he wanted, sating a deep desire to touch and grab him. Cas kissed him back feverishly, touching his collar, his neck. "Someone has to warm your motel bed," he whispered teasingly.

A chuckle rumbled in Dean's hurt chest. "Get some sleep, pack up, say your good-byes," he said against Cas's lips, "and we'll ride off into the sunset together like real cowboys, and we won't ever look back."


	53. Epilogue

Zachariah sighed and crossed his arms. In the brightness of the room cast by eloquent chandeliers, his shadow was stunted, just hovering beneath his feet as he paced the carpeted room slowly. Back and forth, back and forth. The whole room was painted with expensive wallpaper that curled with delicate figures. The floors were a lush red, softer than silk, and there was ornate furniture and mirrors everywhere. He was ignorant of the embellishments. The task at hand was far too unsettling to pay attention to minor details.

Before him were three cots, with three figures asleep in them. Frustrated, the angel turned his back and went to stare at his reflection in the mirror. Raphael and Gabriel appeared behind him in a flurry of wings, and looked to him eagerly. "How did it go, big guy?" Gabriel smirked. "They go right back to being hunters?"

"Not how I expected." Zachariah grumbled.

Raphael turned to look at them. "Did they choose wrong?" He asked in a low, rumbling voice. His dark skin shone in the lighting.

Zachariah turned and followed their eyes to the cots, which were drawn together some time during the sequence without outside forces acting on them. Dean was in the center, with his brother on one side and Castiel on the other. Dean had a handful of Sam's sleeve clenched in his fist protectively. Zachariah's eyes flickered over to look at the lost dark haired angel, and slid his gaze along the trench coat arm to his hand adjacent to the hunter's.

"No. They chose correctly." Zachariah grunted. He turned and vanished, quite moodily, and Gabriel approached the cots. His curiosity was insatiable - but Zachariah would show them what had happened when it was time. Hopefully sooner rather than later. He snapped his fingers, and they all vanished from the fancy set-up room.

A motel room appeared around them, the three figures lying unconscious in a king size bed like sleeping sardines. Outside, the Impala slept. Their bags were strewn across the floor. When they woke, they'd have no memory of what they'd dreamt together. It had been a test to make Dean realize he'd always go back to hunting, even if he was someone entirely different – even if he had never known the life as a child. But adding the others had been a last-minute choice. They'd probably wonder what wa up with the big bed, but he was sure their heads would fill in that memory gap.

Gabriel snapped a quick photo of the trio before Raphael grabbed him and they vanished, leaving Team Free Will to wake up on their own. It would be clearer in the picture, but no one had really looked close enough, and noticed Castiel's finger hooked around Dean's pinkie finger beneath the sleeve of his trench coat; and no one heard the quietest call of _"Cassy," _that slid passed Dean's lips into the silent room as he emerged from their collective dream.


End file.
